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HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 


Mary  Lyon 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

MARY  LYON  .'.  ALICE  FREEMAN  PALMER  .'.  CLARA 

BARTON  .'.  FRANCES  WILLARD  .'.  JULIA  WARD 

HOWE    .'.    ANNA  SHAW    .'.    MARY  ANTIN 

ALICE  C.  FLETCHER.'.  MARY  SLESSOR 

OF  CALABAR  .'.  MADAME  CURIE 

JANE  ADDAMS 


BY 

MARY  R.  PARKMAN 

Author  of  "Heroes  of  Today,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH 
PHOTOGRAPHS 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1921 

ity  of  California  at  Los 


Copyright,  1916,  1917,  by 
,     THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


Published  September,  1917 
Reprinted  April,  1918; 
Reprinted  August,  1918. 


PRINTED    IN    U.  8.  A. 


TO 

MY  MOTHER 
AND  ALL  WHO,  LIKE  HER,  ARK 
TRUE  MOTHERS,  AND  SO,  TRUE 
"HEROINES    OF    SERVICE." 


FOBEWOED 

From  time  immemorial  women  have  been  con- 
tent to  be  as  those  who  serve.  Non  ministrari 
sed  ministrare — not  to  be  ministered  unto  but 
to  minister — is  not  alone  the  motto  of  those 
who  stand  under  the  Wellesley  banner,  but  of 
true  women  everywhere. 

For  centuries  a  woman's  own  home  had  not 
only  first  claim,  but  full  claim,  on  her  foster- 
ing care.  Her  interests  and  sympathies — her 
mother  love — belonged  only  to  those  of  her  own 
household.  In  the  days  when  much  of,  the  la- 
bor of  providing  food  and  clothing  was  carried 
on  under  each  roof -tree,  her  service  was  neces- 
sarily circumscribed  by  the  home  walls. 
Whether  she  was  the  lady  of  a  baronial  castle, 
or  a  hardy  peasant  who  looked  upon  her  work 
within  doors  as  a  rest  from  her  heavier  toil  in 
the  fields,  the  mother  of  the  family  was  not  only 
responsible  for  the  care  of  her  children  and  the 

•  • 

Vll 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  MARY  LYON 3 

II  ALICE  FREEMAN  PALMER 31 

III  CLARA  BARTON 61 

IV  FRANCES  E.  WILLARD 89 

V  JULIA  WARD  HOWE 119 

VI  ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 151 

VII  MARY  ANTIN  ...    ~.     .....  185 

VIII  ALICE  C.  FLETCHER  .     .     .    -".     .     .     .211 

IX  MART  SLESSOR 235 

X  MARIE  SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 267 

XI  JANE  ADDAMS                                             .  297 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Mary   Lyon Frontispiece 

Mary  Lyon  Chapel  and  Administration  Hall  .      .     17 

Alice  Freeman  Palmer 36 

College  Hall,  Destroyed  by  Fire  in  1914    ...     53 

Tower  Court,  which  Stands  on  the  Site  of  College 
Hall 53 

Clara  Barton 79 

Frances  E.  Willard 94 

The  Statue  of  Miss  Willard  in  the  Capitol  at 
Washington 103 

Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe 133 

Anna  Howard  Shaw 167 

Mary  Antin .     .     .     .    '.  201 

Alice  C.  Fletcher 227 

Mary  Slessor 253 

Marie  Sklodowska  Curie       ...'....  280 

Madame  and  Dr.  Curie  and  Their  Little  Daugh- 
ter Irene       .     .     .     .•','. •    / 289 

Jane  Addams        .      ,     .      . 299 

Polk  Street  Facade  of  Hull-House  Buildings  .      .  309 
A  Corner  of  the  Boys'  Library  at  Hull  House     .  309 


PROPHET  AND  PIONEER:    MARY  LYON 


Anything  that  ought  to  be  done  can  be  done. 

IMMANUEL  KAN 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

PROPHET  AND  PIONEEE 

'¥ ¥  THAT  is  my  little  Mistress  Mary  trying 
VV  to  do?"  The  whir  of  the  spinning- 
wheel  was  stilled  for  a  moment  as  Mrs.  Lyon 
glanced  in  surprise  at  the  child  who  had  climbed 
up  on  a  chair  to  look  more  closely  at  the  hour- 
glass on  the  chimneypiece. 

"I  am  just  trying  to  see  if  I  can  find  the 
way  to  make  more  time,"  replied  Mary. 

"That 's  not  the  way,  daughter,"  laughed 
the  busy  mother,  as  she  started  her  wheel 
again.  "When  you  stop  to  watch  time,  you 
lose  it.  Let  your  work  slip  from  your  fingers 
faster  than  the  sand  slips — that  's  the  way  to 
make  time!" 

If  busy  hands  can  indeed  make  time,  we  know 
why  the  days  were  so  full  of  happy  work  in 
that  little  farm-house  among  the  hills  of  west- 
ern Massachusetts.  It  takes  courage  and 

3 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

ceaseless  toil  to  run  a  farm  that  must  provide 
food  and  clothing  for  seven  growing  children, 
but  Mrs.  Lyon  was  never  too  busy  or  too  tired 
to  help  a  neighbor  or  to  speak  a  word  of  cheer. 

"How  is  it  that  the  widow  can  do  more  for 
me  than  any  one  else?"  asked  a  neighbor  who 
had  found  her  a  friend  in  need.  ' '  She  reminds 
me  of  what  the  Bible  says,  'having  nothing  yet 
possessing  all  things.'  There  she  is  left  with- 
out a  husband  to  fend  for  her  and  the  chil- 
dren, so  that  it  's  work,  work,  work  for  them 
all  from  morning  till  night,  and  yet  they  're 
always  happy.  You  would  think  the  children 
liked  nothing  better  than  doing  chores." 

"How  is  it  that  the  harder  a  thing  is  the 
more  you  seem  to  like  it,  Mary?"  asked  her 
seat-mate  in  the  district  school,  looking  won- 
deringly  at  the  girl  whose  eyes  always  bright- 
ened and  snapped  when  the  arithmetic  prob- 
lems were  long  and  hard. 

"Oh,  it  's  lots  more  fun  climbing  than  just 
going  along  on  the  level,"  replied  Mary. 
"You  feel  so  much  more  alive.  I  '11  tell  you 
what  to  do  when  a  thing  seems  hard,  like  a 
steep,  steep  hill,  you  know.  Say  to  yourself: 

4 


MARY  LYON 

'Some  people  may  call  you  Difficulty,  old  hill; 
but  I  know  that  your  name  is  Opportunity. 
You  're  here  just  to  prove  that  I  can  do  some- 
thing worth  while/  Then  the  climbing  is  the 
best  fun — really ! ' ' 

It  is  a  happy  thing  to  be  born  among  the 
hills.  Wherever  one  looks  there  is  something 
to  whisper:  "There  is  no  joy  like  climbing. 
Besides,  the  sun  stays  longer  on  the  summit, 
and  beyond  the  hill-tops  is  a  larger,  brighter 
world."  Perhaps  it  was  the  fresh  breath  of 
the  hills  that  gave  Mary  Lyon  her  glowing 
cheeks,  as  the  joy  of  climbing  brought  the  danc- 
ing lights  into  her  clear  blue  eyes. 

The  changing  seasons  march  over  the  hills  in 
a  glorious  pageant  of  color,  from  the  tender 
veiling  green  of  young  April  to  the  purple 
mists  and  red-and-gold  splendor  of  Indian  sum- 
mer. Every  day  had  the  thrill  of  new  adven- 
ture to  Mary  Lyon,  but  perhaps  she  loved  the 
mellow  October  days  best.  ' '  They  have  all  the 
glowing  memory  of  the  past  summer  and  the 
promise  of  the  spring  to  come,"  she  used  to 
say. 

How  could  one  who  had,  through  the  weeks 
5 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

of  growing  things,  worked  together  with 
and  sunshine  and  generous  earth  for  the  har- 
vest but  feel  the  happy  possession  of  all  the 
year  at  the  time  when  she  saw  bins  overflowing 
with  brown  potatoes,  yellow  corn,  and  other 
gifts  of  fields  and  orchard?  She  could  never 
doubt  that,  given  the  waiting  earth  and  faith- 
ful labor,  the  harvest  was  sure.  Duties  and 
difficulties  were  always  opportunities  for 
higher  endeavor  and  happier  achievement. 

There  was  no  play  in  Mary  Lyon's  child- 
hood except  the  play  that  a  healthy,  active 
child  may  find  in  varied,  healthful  work  done 
with  a  light  heart.  There  was  joy  in  rising 
before  the  sun  was  up,  to  pick  weeds  in  the 
dewy  garden,  to  feed  the  patient  creatures  in 
the  barn,  and  to  make  butter  in  the  cool  spring- 
house.  Sometimes  one  could  meet  the  sunrise 
on  the  hill-top,  when  it  happened  to  be  one's 
turn  to  bring  wood  to  the  dwindling  pile  by  the 
kitchen  door.  Then  there  was  the  baking — 
golden-brown  loaves  of  bread  and  tempting 
apple  pies.  When  the  morning  mists  had 
quite  disappeared  from  the  face  of  the  hills, 
the  blue  smoke  had  ceased  to  rise  from  the 

6 


MAKY  LYON 

chimney  of  the  little  farm-house.  Then  was 
the  time  to  sit  beside  Mother  and  knit  or  weave, 
sew  or  mend,  the  garments  that  were  home- 
made, beginning  with  the  moment  when  the 
wool,  sheared  from  their  own  sheep,  was 
carded  and  spun  into  thread.  For  holidays, 
there  were  the  exciting  mornings  when  they 
made  soap  and  candles,  or  the  afternoons  when 
they  gathered  together  in  the  barn  for  a  husk- 
ing-bee. 

Beauty  walked  with  Toil,  however,  about 
that  farm  in  the  hills.  Mary  had  time  to  lift 
up  her  eyes  to  the  glory  of  the  changing  sky 
and  to  tend  the  pinks  and  peonies  that  throve 
nowhere  so  happily  as  in  her  mother's  old- 
fashioned  garden. 

"May  I  plant  this  bush  in  the  corner  with 
your  roses?"  asked  a  neighbor  one  day.  "It 
is  a  rare  plant  of  rare  virtue,  and  I  know  that  in 
your  garden  it  cannot  die." 

As  the  labor  of  her  hands  prospered,  as  her 
garden  posies  blossomed,  so  the  wings  of  Mary 
Lyon's  spirit  grew.  No  matter  how  shut  in  the 
present  seemed,  no  hope  nor  dream  for  the  fu- 
ture died  in  her  heart  as  the  days  went  by. 

7 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

Her  plans  only  took  deeper  and  deeper  j;oot 
as  she  worked  and  waited  patiently  for  the  time 
of  flowers  and  fruit.  There  were  few  books  to 
be  had,  but  these  yielded  her  of  their  best. 
There  was  opportunity  for  but  few  scattered 
terms  in  distant  district  schools,  but  she  learned 
there  more  than  the  teachers  taught. 

"Anything  is  interesting  when  you  realize 
that  it  is  important,"  she  used  to  say.  And  to 
Mary  everything  was  important  that  was  real. 
She  learned  not  only  from  books,  but  from 
work,  from  people,  from  Nature,  and  from 
every  bit  of  stray  circumstance  that  came  her 
way.  It  is  said  that  when  the  first  brick  house 
was  built  in  the  village  she  made  a  point  of 
learning  how  to  make  bricks,  turning  them  up, 
piling  them  on  the  wheelbarrow,  and  putting 
them  in  the  kiln.  She  was  always  hungry  to 
know  and  to  do,  and  the  harder  a  thing  was  the 
more  she  seemed  to  like  it.  Climbing  was  ever 
more  fun  than  trudging  along  on  the  level. 

The  years  brought  changes  to  the  home  farm. 
The  older  sisters  married  and  went  to  homes  of 
their  own.  When  Mary  was  thirteen  her 
mother  married  again  and  went  away  with  the 

8 


MAKY  LYON 

younger  children,  leaving  her  to  keep  house  for 
the  only  brother,  who  had  from  early  childhood 
been  her  best  comrade.  The  dollar  a  week 
given  her  for  her  work  was  saved  to  pay  for  a 
term  in  the  neighboring  academy.  She  also 
taught  in  a  district  school  for  a  while,  receiv- 
ing seventy-five  cents  a  week  and  board. 

The  nineteen-year-old  girl  who  appeared  one 
day  at  the  Ashfield  Academy  somehow  drew 
all  eyes  to  her.  Her  blue  homespun  dress, 
with  running-strings  at  neck  and  waist,  was 
queer  and  shapeless,  even  judged  by  village 
standards  in  the  New  England  of  1817.  Her 
movements  were  impulsive  and  ungainly  and 
her  gait  awkward.  But  it  was  not  the  crudity, 
but  the  power,  of  the  new-comer  that  impressed 
people.  Squire  White's  gentle  daughter,  the 
slender,  graceful  Amanda,  gave  the  loyalty  of 
her  best  friendship  to  this  interesting  and  en- 
thusiastic schoolmate  from  the  hill  farm. 

"She  is  more  alive  than  any  one  I  know, 
Father,"  said  the  girl,  in  explanation  of  her 
preference.  "You  never  see  her  odd  dress  and 
sudden  ways  when  once  you  have  looked  into 
her  face  and  talked  to  her.  Her  face  seems 

9 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

lighted  from  within — it  isn't  just  her  bright 
color  and  red-gold  curls;  it  isn't  even  her 
merry  laugh.  I  can't  explain  what  I  mean,  but 
it  seems  as  if  her  life  touches  mine — and  it 's 
such  a  big,  warm,  beautiful  life!" 

The  traditions  of  this  New  England  village 
long  kept  the  memory  of  her  first  recitation. 
On  Friday  she  had  been  given  the  first  lesson 
of  Adams's  Latin  Grammar  to  commit  to 
memory.  When  she  was  called  up  early  Mon- 
day afternoon,  she  began  to  recite  fluently 
declensions  and  conjugations  without  pause, 
until,  as  the  daylight  waned,  the  whole  of  the 
Latin  grammar  passed  in  review  before  the 
speechless  teacher  and  dazzled,  admiring  pu- 
pils. 

"How  did  you  ever  do  it?  How  could  your 
head  hold  it  all?"  demanded  Amanda,  with  a 
gasp,  as  they  walked  home  together. 

"Well,  really,  I  '11  have  to  own  up,"  said 
Mary,  with  some  reluctance,  "I  studied  all  day 
Sunday !  It  was  n't  so  very  hard,  though.  I 
soon  saw  where  the  changes  in  the  conjuga- 
tions came  in,  and  the  rules  of  syntax  are  very 
much  like  English  grammar." 

10 


MARY  LYON 

Studying  was  never  hard  work  to  Mary,  be- 
cause she  could  at  a  moment's  notice  put  all 
her  attention  on  the  thing  at  hand.  Her  busy 
childhood  had  taught  her  to  attack  a  task  at 
once,  while  others  were  frequently  spending 
their  time  thinking  and  talking  about  doing  it. 

"No  one  could  study  like  Mary  Lyon,  and 
no  one  could  clean  the  school-room  with  such 
despatch,"  said  one  of  her  classmates. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  never  knew  what  it  was 
to  be  tired.  She  appeared  to  have  a  bound- 
less store  of  strength  and  enthusiasm,  as  if, 
through  all  her  growing  years,  she  had  made 
over  into  the  very  fiber  of  her  being  the  energy 
of  the  life-giving  sunshine  and  the  patience  of 
the  enduring  hills.  Time  must  be  used  wisely 
when  all  one's  little  hoard  of  savings  will  only 
pay  for  the  tuition  of  one  precious  term.  Her 
board  was  paid  with  two  coverlets,  spun,  dyed, 
and  woven  by  her  own  hands. 

"They  should  prove  satisfactory  covers,"  she 
said  merrily,  "for  they  have  covered  all  my 
needs." 

On  the  day  when  she  thought  she  must  bid 
farewell  to  Ashfield  Academy  the  trustees 

11 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

voted  her  free  tuition,  a  gift  which,  as  pupil- 
teacher,  she  did  her  best  to  repay.  The  hos- 
pitable doors  of  Squire  White's  dignified  resi- 
dence were  thrown  open  to  his  daughter's 
chosen  friend,  and  in  this  second  home  she 
readily  absorbed  the  ways  of  gracious  living — 
the  niceties  and  refinements  of  dress  and  man- 
ners for  which  there  had  been  no  time  in  the 
busy  farm-house. 

When  the^  course  at  the  academy  was  com- 
pleted, the  power  of  her  eager  spirit  and  evi- 
dent gifts  led  Squire  White  to  offer  her  the 
means  to  go  with  his  daughter  to  Byfield  Semi- 
nary near  Boston,  the  school  conducted  by  Mr. 
Joseph  Emerson,  who  believed  that  young 
women,  no  less  than  their  brothers,  should  have 
an  opportunity  for  higher  instruction.  In 
those  days  before  colleges  for  women  or  nor- 
mal schools,  he  dreamed  of  doing  something 
towards  giving  worthy  preparation  to  future 
teachers.  It  was  through  the  teaching  and  in- 
spiration of  this  cultured  Harvard  scholar  and 
large-hearted  man  that  Mary  Lyon  learned  to 
know  the  meaning  of  life,  and  to  understand 
aright  the  longings  of  her  own  soul.  Years 

12 


MAEY  LYON 

afterward  she  said :  *  'In  my  youth  I  had  much 
vigor — was  always  aspiring  after  something. 
I  called  it  longing  to  study,  but  had  few  to  di- 
rect me.  One  teacher  I  shall  always  remember. 
He  taught  me  that  education  was  to  fit  one  to 
do  good." 

On  leaving  Byfield  Seminary,  Miss  Lyon  be- 
gan her  life-work  of  teaching.  But  with  all  her 
preparation  for  doing  and  her  intense  desire 
to  do,  she  did  not  at  first  succeed.  The  matter 
of  control  was  not  easy  to  one  who  would  not 
stoop  to  rigid  mechanical  means  and  who  said, 
"One  has  not  governed  a  child  until  she  makes 
the  child  smile  under  her  government,"  Be- 
sides, her  sense  of  humor — later  one  of  her  chief 
assets — seemed  at  first  to  get  in  the  way  of  her 
gaining  a  steady  hold  on  the  reins. 

When  she  was  tempted  to  give  up  in  discour- 
agement, she  said  to  herself:  "I  know  that 
good  teachers  are  needed,  and  that  I  ought  to 
teach.  'All  that  ought  to  be  done  can  be 
done.'  " 

To  one  who  worked  earnestly  in  that  spirit, 
success  was  sure.  Five  years  later,  two  towns 
were  vying  with  each  other  to  secure  her  as  a 

13 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

teacher  in  their  academies  for  young  ladies. 
For  some  time  she  taught  at  Derry,  New  Hamp- 
shire, during  the  warm  months,  going  to  her 
beloved  Ashfield  for  the  winter  term.  Wher- 
ever she  was  she  drew  pupils  from  the  sur- 
rounding towns  and  even  from  beyond  the  bor- 
ders of  the  State.  Teachers  left  their  schools 
to  gather  about  her.  She  had  the  power  to 
communicate  something  of  her  own  enthusiasm 
and  vitality.^  Bright  eyes  and  alert  faces  testi- 
fied to  her  power  to  quicken  thought  and  to 
create  an  appetite  for  knowledge. 

"Her  memory  has  been  to  me  continually 
an  inspiration  to  overcome  difficulties,"  said 
one  of  her  pupils. 

"You  were  the  first  friend  who  ever  pointed 
out  to  me  defects  of  character  with  the  expecta- 
tion that  they  would  be  removed,"  another  pu- 
pil wrote  in  a  letter  of  heartfelt  gratitude. 

At  this  time  all  the  schools  for  girls,  like  the 
Ashfield  Academy  and  Mr.  Emerson's  seminary 
at  Byfield,  were  entirely  dependent  upon  the 
enterprise  and  ideals  of  individuals.  There 
were  no  colleges  with  buildings  and  equipment, 
such  as  furnished  dormitories,  libraries,  and 

14 


MAKY  LYON 

laboratories,  belonging  to  the  work  and  the  fu- 
ture. In  the  case  of  the  most  successful 
schools  there  was  no  guarantee  that  they  would 
endure  beyond  the  lifetime  of  those  whose  in- 
terest had  called  them  into  being. 

Miss  Lyon  taught  happily  for  several  years, 
often  buying  books  of  reference  and  material 
for  practical  illustration  out  of  her  salary  of 
five  or  six  dollars  a  week.  The  chance  for  per- 
sonal influence  seemed  the  one  essential. 
' '  Never  mind  the  brick  and  mortar ! ' '  she  cried. 
"Only  let  us  have  the  living  minds  to  work 
upon!" 

As  experience  came  with  the  years,  however, 
as  she  saw  schools  where  a  hundred  young 
women  were  crowded  into  one  room  without 
black-boards,  globes,  maps,  and  other  neces- 
saries of  instruction — she  realized  that  some- 
thing must  be  done  to  secure  higher  schools  for 
girls,  that  would  have  the  requisite  material 
equipment  for  the  present  and  security  for  the 
future.  "We  must  provide  a  college  for  young 
women  on  the  same  conditions  as  those  for 
men,  with  publicly  owned  buildings  and  fixed 
standards  of  work,"  she  said. 

15 


.This  idea  could  appeal  to  most  people  of  that 
day  only  as  a  strange,  extravagant,  and  dan- 
gerous notion.  Harvard  and  Yale  existed  to 
prepare  men  to  be  ministers,  doctors,  and  law- 
yers. Did  women  expect  to  thrust  them- 
selves into  the  professions?  Why  should  they 
want  the  learning  of  men?  It  could  do  nothing 
but  make  them  unfit  for  their  proper  life  in 
the  home.  Who  had  ever  heard  of  a  college 
for  girls !  What  is  unheard  of  is  to  most  peo- 
ple manifestly  absurd. 

To  Mary  Lyon,  however,  difficulties  were  op- 
portunities for  truer  effort  and  greater  service. 
She  had,  besides,  a  faith  in  a  higher  power — 
in  a  Divine  Builder  of  " houses  not  made  with 
hands"— which  led  her  to  say  with  unshaken 
confidence,  "  'All  that  ought  to  be  done  can  be 
done!'  " 

It  was  as  if  she  were  able  to  look  into  the 
future  and  see  the  way  time  would  sift  the 
works  of  the  present.  Those  who  looked  into 
her  earnest  blue  eyes,  bright  with  courage, 
deep  with  understanding,  could  not  but  feel 
that  she  had  the  prophet's  vision.  It  was  as 
if  she  had  power  to  divine  the  difference  be- 

16 


Mary  Lyon   chapel   and   administration   hall 


• 


MAEY  LYON 

tween  the  difficult  and  the  impossible,  and, 
knowing  that,  her  faith  in  the  happy  outcome 
of  her  work  was  founded  on  a  rock. 

It  took  this  faith  and  hope,  together  with  an 
unfailing  charity  for  the  lack  of  vision  in  others 
and  an  ever-present  sense  of  humor,  to  carry 
Mary  Lyon  through  the  task  to  which  she  now 
set  herself.  She  was  determined  to  open  peo- 
ple's eyes  to  the  need  of  giving  girls  a  chance 
for  a  training  that  would  fit  them  for  more  use- 
ful living  by  making  them  better  teachers, 
wiser  home-makers,  and,  in  their  own  right, 
happier  human  beings.  She  must  not  only 
convince  the  conservative  men  and  women  of 
her  day  that  education  could  do  these  things, 
but  she  must  make  that  conviction  so  strong 
that  they  would  be  willing  to  give  of  their  hard- 
earned  substance  to  help  along  the  good  work. 

Those  were  not  the  days  of  large  fortunes. 
Miss  Lyon  could  not  depend  upon  winning  the 
interest  of  a  few  powerful  benefactors.  She 
must  enlist  the  support  of  the  many  who  would 
be  willing  to  share  their  little.  She  must  per- 
force have  the  hardihood  of  the  pioneer,  no 
less  than  the  vision  of  the  seer,  to  enable  her 

19 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

to  meet  the  problems,  trials,  and  rebuffs  of^the 
next  few  years. 

"I  learned  twenty  years  ago  not  to  get  out 
of  patience,"  she  once  said  to  some  one  who 
marveled  at  the  unwearied  good-humor  with 
which  she  met  the  most  exasperating  circum- 
stances. 

First  enlisting  the  assistance  of  a  few  ear- 
nest men  to  serve  as  trustees  and  promoters 
of  the  cause,  she,  herself,  traveled  from  town 
to  town,  from  village  to  village,  and  from  house 
to  house,  telling  over  and  over  again  the  story 
of  the  Mount  Holyoke  to  be,  and  what  it  was  to 
mean  to  the  daughters  of  New  England.  For 
the  site  in  South  Hadley,  Massachusetts,  had 
been  early  selected,  and  the  name  of  the  neigh- 
boring height,  overlooking  the  Connecticut 
River,  chosen  by  the  girl  who  was  born  in  the 
hills  and  who  believed  that  it  was  good  to 
climb. 

"I  wander  about  without  a  home,"  she  wrote 
to  her  mother,  "and  scarcely  know  one  week 
where  I  shall  be  the  next." 

All  of  her  journeying  was  by  stage,  for  at 
that  time  the  only  railroad  in  New  England  was 

20 


MARY  LYON 

the  one,  not  yet  completed,  connecting  Boston 
with  Worcester  and  Lowell.  To  those  who 
feared  that  even  her  robust  health  and  radiant 
spirit  could  not  long  endure  the  strain  of  such 
a  life,  she  said:  "Our  personal  comforts  are 
delightful,  but  not  essential.  Mount  Holyoke 
means  more  than  meat  and  sleep.  Had  I  a 
thousand  lives,  I  would  sacrifice  them  all  in 
suffering  and  hardship  for  its  sake." 

During  these  years  Miss  Lyon  abundantly 
proved  that  the  pioneer  does  not  live  by  bread 
alone.  Only  by  the  vision  of  what  his  strug- 
gles will  mean  to  those  who  come  after  to  profit 
by  his  labors  is  his  zeal  fed.  It  seemed  at 
the  time  when  Mount  Holyoke  was  only  a 
dream  of  what  might  be,  and  in  the  anxious 
days  of  breaking  ground  which  followed,  that 
Miss  Lyon's  faith  that  difficulties  are  only  op- 
portunities in  disguise  was  tried  to  the  utmost. 
Just  when  her  enthusiasm  was  arousing  in  the 
frugal,  thrifty  New  Englanders  a  desire  to 
give,  out  of  their  slender  savings,  a  great  finan- 
cial panic  swept  over  the  country. 

Miss  Lyon's  friends  shook  their  heads. 
"You  will  have  to  wait  for  better  times,"  they 

21 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

said.  "It  is  impossible  to  go  on  with  the^un- 
dertaking  now." 

"When  a  thing  ought  to  be  done,  it  cannot 
be  impossible,"  replied  Miss  Lyon.  "Now  is 
the  only  word  that  belongs  to  us ;  with  the  after- 
while  we  have  nothing  to  do." 

In  that  spirit  she  went  on,  and  in  that  spirit 
girls  who  had  been  her  pupils  gave  of  their 
little  stipends  earned  by  teaching,  and  the 
mothers  of  '"girls  gave  of  the  money  earned  by 
selling  eggs  and  braiding  palm-leaf  hats. 

"Don't  think  any  gift  too  small,"  said  Miss 
Lyon.  "I  want  the  twenties  and  the  fifties, 
but  the  dollars  and  the  half-dollars,  with 
prayer,  go  a  long  way." 

So  Mount  Holyoke  was  built  on  faith  and 
prayer  and  the  gifts  of  the  many  who  believed 
that  the  time  cried  out  for  a  means  of  educat- 
ing girls  who  longed  for  a  better  training. 
One  hard-working  farmer  with  five  sons  to  edu- 
cate gave  a  hundred  dollars.  "I  have  no 
daughters  of  my  own,"  he  said,  "but  I  want  to 
help  give  the  daughters  of  America  the  chance 
they  should  have  along  with  the  boys."  Two 
delicate  gentlewomen  who  had  lost  their  little 

22 


MAEY  LYON 

property  in  the  panic,  earned  with  their  own 
hands  the  money  they  had  pledged  to  the  col- 
lege. 

Even  Miss  Lyon's  splendid  optimism  had, 
however,  some  chill  encounters  with  small- 
mindedness  in  people  who  were  not  seldom 
those  of  large  opportunities.  Once  when  she 
had  journeyed  a  considerable  distance  to  lay 
her  plans  before  a  family  of  wealth  and  in- 
fluence in  the  community,  she  returned  to  her 
friends  with  a  shade  of  thought  on  her  cheer- 
ful brow.  "Yes,  it  is  all  true,  just  as  I  was 
told, ' '  she  said  as  if  to  herself.  ' '  They  live  in  a 
costly  house,  it  is  full  of  costly  things,  they 
wear  costly  clothes — but  oh,  they  're  little  bits 
of  folks!" 

Miss  Lyon,  herself,  gave  to  the  work  not  only 
her  entire  capital  of  physical  strength  and  her 
gifts  of  heart  and  mind,  but  also  her  small  sav- 
ings, which  had  been  somewhat  increased  by 
Mr.  White's  prudent  investments.  And  for 
the  future  she  offered  her  services  on  the  same 
conditions  as  those  of  the  missionary — the 
means  of  simple  livelihood  and  the  joy  of  the 
work. 

23 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

"Mount  Holyoke  is  designed  to  cultivate 4foe 
missionary  spirit  among  its  pupils,"  declared 
an  early  circular,  "that  they  may  live  for  God 
and  do  something." 

Always  Miss  Lyon  emphasized  the  ideal  of 
an  education  that  should  be  a  training  for 
service.  To  this  end  she  decided  upon  the  ex- 
pedient of  cooperative  housework  to  reduce 
running  expenses,  to  develop  responsibility, 
and  to  provide  healthful  physical  exercise. 
Long  before  the  day  of  gymnasiums  and  active 
sports,  this  educator  recognized  the  need  of 
balanced  development  of  physical  as  well  as 
mental  habits. 

"We  need  to  introduce  wise  and  healthy 
ideals  not  only  into  our  minds,  but  into  our 
muscles,"  she  said.  "Besides,  there  is  no  dis- 
cipline so  valuable  as  that  which  comes  from 
fitting  our  labors  into  the  work  of  others  for 
a  common  good." 

One  difficulty  after  another  was  met  and  van- 
quished. When  the  digging  for  the  foundation 
of  the  first  building  was  actually  under  way, 
quicksand  was  discovered  and  another  location 
had  to  be  chosen.  Then  it  appeared  that  the 

24 


MAKY  LYON 

bricks  were  faulty,  which  led  to  another  de- 
lay. After  the  work  was  resumed  and  all  was 
apparently  going  well,  the  walls  suddenly  col- 
lapsed. "Then,"  said  the  man  in  charge,  "I 
did  dread  to  see  Miss  Lyon.  Now,  thought  I, 
she  will  be  discouraged." 

As  he  hurried  towards  the  ruins,  however, 
whom  should  he  meet  but  Miss  Lyon  herself, 
smiling  radiantly!  "How  fortunate  it  is  that 
it  happened  while  the  men  were  at  breakfast!" 
she  exclaimed.  "I  understand  that  no  one 
has  been  injured ! ' ' 

The  corner-stone  was  laid  on  a  bright 
October  day  that  seemed  to  have  turned  all 
the  gray  chill  of  the  dying  year  into  a  golden 
promise  of  budding  life  after  the  time  of  frost. 

"The  stones  and  brick  and  mortar  speak  a 
language  which  vibrates  through  my  soul,"  said 
Miss  Lyon.  "I  have  indeed  lived  to  see  the 
time  when  a  body  of  gentlemen  have  ventured 
to  lay  the  corner-stone  of  an  edifice  which  will 
cost  about  fifteen  thousand  dollars — and  for 
an  institution  for  women!  Surely  the  Lord 
hath  remembered  our  low  estate.  The  work 
will  not  stop  with  this  foundation.  Our  enter- 

25 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

prise  may  have  to  struggle  through  embarrass- 
ments for  years,  but  its  influence  will  be  felt." 

How  lovingly  she  watched  the  work  go  on! 
When  the  interior  was  under  way,  how  care- 
fully she  considered  each  detail  of  closets, 
shelves,  and  general  arrangements  for  comfort 
and  convenience!  When  the  question  of 
equipment  became  urgent,  how  she  worked  to 
create  an  interest  that  should  express  itself 
in  gifts  of  bedroom  furnishings,  curtains, 
crockery,  and  kitchen-ware,  as  well  as  books, 
desks,  chairs,  and  laboratory  material!  All 
sorts  and  conditions  of  contributions  and  dona- 
tions were  welcomed.  One  was  reminded  of 
the  way  pioneer  Harvard  was  at  first  sup- 
ported by  gifts  of  "a  cow  or  a  sheep,  corn  or 
salt,  a  piece  of  cloth  or  of  silver  plate. ' '  Four 
months  before  the  day  set  for  the  opening,  not 
a  third  of  the  necessary  furnishing  had  come 
in. 

"Everything  that  is  done  for  us  now,"  cried 
Miss  Lyon,  "seems  like  giving  bread  to  the 
hungry  and  cold  water  to  the  thirsty ! ' ' 

On  the  eighth  of  November,  1837,  the  day 
that  Mount  Holyoke  opened  its  door,  all  was 

26 


MARY  LYON 

excitement  in  South  Hadley.  Stages  and  pri- 
vate carriages  had  for  two  days  been  arriving 
with  road-weary,  but  eager,  young  women. 
The  sound  of  hammers  greeted  their  ears.  It 
appeared  that  all  the  men,  young  and  old,  of 
the  countryside  had  been  pressed  into  service. 
Some  were  tacking  down  carpet  or  matting, 
others  were  carrying  trunks,  unloading  furni- 
ture, and  putting  up  beds.  Miss  Lyon  seemed 
to  be  everywhere,  greeting  each  new-comer 
with  a  word  that  showed  that  she  already  knew 
her  as  an  individual,  putting  the  shy  and  home- 
sick girls  to  work,  taking  a  cup  of  tea  to  one 
who  was  overtired  from  her  journey,  and  di- 
recting the  placing  of  furniture  and  the  un- 
packing of  supplies. 

It  might  well  have  seemed  to  those  first  ar- 
rivals that  they  must  live  through  a  period  of 
preparation  before  a  reluctant  beginning  of 
regular  work  could  be  achieved,  but  in  the  midst 
of  all  the  noise  of  house-settling  and  the  fever 
of  uncompleted  entrance  examinations  the  open- 
ing bell  sounded  on  schedule  time  and  classes 
began  at  once.  What  seemed,  at  first  glance, 
hopeless  confusion  became  ordered  and  stimu- 

27 


lating  activity  through  the  generalship  and  in- 
spiration of  one  woman  whose  watchword  was : 
"Do  the  best  you  can  now.  Do  not  lose  one 
golden  opportunity  for  doing  by  merely  getting 
ready  to  do  something.  Always  remember 
that  what  ought  to  be  done  can  be  done.*' 

This  spirit  of  assured  power — the  will  to 
do — became  the  spirit  of  those  who  worked 
with  her,  and  was  in  time  recognized  as  "the 
Mount  Holyoke  spirit." 

"I  can  see  Miss  Lyon  now  as  vividly  as  if 
it  were  only  yesterday  that  I  arrived,  tired, 
hungry,  and  fearful,  into  the  strange  new  world 
of  the  seminary,"  said  a  white-haired  grand- 
mother, her  spectacles  growing  misty  as  she 
looked  back  across  the  sixty-odd  years  that 
separated  her  from  the  experiences  that  she 
was  recalling. 

"Tell  me  what  you  remember  most  about 
her,"  urged  her  vivacious  granddaughter,  a 
Mount  Holyoke  freshman,  home  for  her  Christ- 
mas vacation.  "Was  she  really  such  a  wonder 
as  they  all  say?" 

"Many  pictures  come  to  me  of  Miss  Lyon 
that  are  much  more  vivid  than  those  of  people 

28 


MAEY  LYON 

I  saw  yesterday,"  pondered  the  grandmother. 
"But  it  was,  I  think,  in  morning  exercises  in 
seminary  hall  that  she  impressed  us  most. 
Those  who  listened  to  her  earnest  words  and 
looked  into  her  face  alight  with  feeling  could 
not  but  remember.  Her  large  blue  eyes  looked 
down  upon  us  as  if  she  held  us  all  in  her  heart. 
What  was  the  secret  of  her  power?  My  dear, 
she  was  power.  All  that  she  taught,  she  was. 
And  so  while  her  words  awakened,  her  example 
— the  life-giving  touch  of  her  life — gave  power 
to  do  and  to  endure." 

The  young  girl's  bright  face  was  turned 
thoughtfully  towards  the  fire,  but  the  light  that 
shone  in  her  eyes  was  more  than  the  reflected 
glow  from  the  cheerful  logs.  "It  is  good  to 
think  that  a  woman  can  live  like  that  in  her 
work,"  she  ventured  softly. 

The  grandmother's  face  showed  an  answer- 
ing glow.  '  *  There  are  some  things  that  cannot 
grow  old  and  die,"  she  said.  "One  of  them  is 
a  spirit  like  Mary  Lyon's.  When  they  told  us 
that  she  had  died,  we  knew  that  only  her  bodily 
presence  had  been  removed.  She  still  lived  in 
our  midst — we  heard  the  ring  of  her  voice  in 

29 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

the  words  we  read,  in  the  words  our  hearts  told 
us  she  would  say ;  we  even  heard  the  ring  of  her 
laugh!  And  to-day  you  may  he  sure  that  the 
woman-pioneer  who  had  the  faith  to  plant  the 
first  college  for  women  in  America,  lives  by 
that  faith,  not  only  in  her  own  Mount  Holyoke, 
but  in  the  larger  lives  of  all  the  women  who 
have  profited  by  her  labors." 


30 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY: 
ALICE  FREEMAN  PALMER 


Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  grow  forever  and  forever. 

TENNYSON. 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

THIS  is  the  story  of  a,  princess  of  our  own 
time  and  our  own  America — a  princess 
who,  while  little  more  than  a  girl  herself,  was 
chosen  to  rule  a  kingdom  of  girls.  It  is  a  little 
like  the  story  of  Tennyson's  ''Princess,"  with 
her  woman's  kingdom,  and  very  much  like  the 
happy,  old-fashioned  fairy-tale. 

We  have  come  to  think  it  is  only  in  fairy- 
tales that  a  golden  destiny  finds  out  the  true, 
golden  heart,  and,  even  though  she  masquer- 
ades as  a  goose-girl,  discovers  the  ''kingly 
child"  and  brings  her  to  a  waiting  throne. 
We  are  tempted  to  believe  that  the  chance  of 
birth  and  the  gifts  of  wealth  are  the  things 
that  spell  opportunity  and  success.  But  this 
princess  was  born  in  a  little  farm-house,  to  a 
daily  round  of  hard  work  and  plain  living. 
That  it  was  also  a  life  of  high  thinking  and 
rich  enjoyment  of  what  each  day  brought, 
proved  her  indeed  a  "kingly  child." 

33 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

' '  Give  me  health  and  a  day,  and  I  will  make 
the  pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous!"  said  the 
sage  of  Concord.  So  it  was  with  little  Alice 
Freeman.  As  she  picked  wild  strawberries  on 
the  hills,  and  climbed  the  apple-tree  to  lie  for 
a  blissful  minute  in  a  nest  of  swaying  blossoms 
under  the  blue  sky,  she  was,  as  she  said,  "happy 
all  over."  The  trappings  of  r&yalty  can  add 
nothing  to  one  who  knows  how  to  be  royally 
happy  in  gingham. 

But  Alice  was  not  always  following  the  pas- 
ture path  to  her  friendly  brook,  or  running 
across  the  fields  with  the  calling  wind,  or  danc- 
ing with  her  shadow  in  the  barn-yard,  where 
even  the  prosy  hens  stopped  pecking  corn  for  a 
minute  to  watch.  She  had  work  to  do  for 
Mother.  When  she  was  only  four,  she  could 
dry  the  dishes  without  dropping  one ;  and  when 
she  was  six,  she  could  be  trusted  to  keep  the 
three  toddlers  younger  than  herself  out  of  mis- 
chief. 

"My  little  daughter  is  learning  to  be  a  real 
little  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Freeman,  as  she  went 
about  her  work  of  churning  and  baking  without 
an  anxious  thought. 

34 


Alice  Freeman  Palmer 


It  was  Sister  Alice  who  pointed  out  the 
robin's  nest,  and  found  funny  turtles  and  baby 
toads  to  play  with.  She  took  the  little  brood 
with  her  to  hunt  eggs  in  the  barn  and  to  see 
the  ducks  sail  around  like  a  fleet  of  boats  on 
the  pond.  When  Ella  and  Fred  were  wakened 
by  a  fearsome  noise  at  night,  they  crept  up 
close  to  their  little  mother,  who  told  them  a 
story  about  the  funny  screech-owl  in  its  hollow- 
tree  home. 

"It  is  the  ogre  of  mice  and  bats,  but  not  of 
little  boys  and  girls,"  she  said. 

"It  sounds  funny  now,  Alice,"  they  whis- 
pered. "It 's  all  right  when  we  can  touch 
you." 

When  Alice  was  seven  a  change  came  in  the 
home.  The  father  and  mother  had  some  seri- 
ous talks,  and  then  it  was  decided  that  Father 
should  go  away  for  a  time,  for  two  years,  to 
study  to  be  a  doctor. 

"It  is  hard  to  be  chained  to  one  kind  of  life 
when  all  the  time  you  are  sure  that  you  have 
powers  and  possibilities  that  have  never  had 
a  chance  to  come  out  in  the  open,"  she  heard 
her  father  say  one  evening.  "I  have  always 

37 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

wanted  to  be  a  doctor;  I  can  never  be  more 
than  a  half-hearted  farmer." 

"You  must  go  to  Albany  now,  James,"  said 
the  dauntless  wife.  "I  can  manage  the  farm 
until  you  get  through  your  course  at  the  medi- 
cal college ;  and  then,  when  you  are  doing  work 
into  which  you  can  put  your  whole  heart,  a  bet- 
ter time  must  come  for  all  of  us." 

"How  can  you  possibly  get  along?"  he  asked 
in  amazement.  ' '  How  can  I  leave  you  for  two 
years  to  be  a  farmer,  and  father  and  mother, 
too!" 

"There  is  a  little  bank  here,"  she  said,  taking 
down  a  jar  from  a  high  shelf  in  the  cupboard 
and  jingling  its  contents  merrily.  ' '  I  have  been 
saving  bit  by  bit  for  just  this  sort  of  thing. 
And  Alice  will  help  me,"  she  added,  smiling  at 
the  child  who  had  been  standing  near  looking 
from  father  to  mother  in  wide-eyed  wonder. 
"You  will  be  the  little  mother  while  I  take 
father's  place  for  a  time,  won't  you,  Alice?" 

"It  will  be  cruelly  hard  on  you  all,"  said  the 
father,  soberly.  ' '  I  cannot  make  it  seem  right. ' ' 

"Think  how  much  good  you  can  do  after- 
ward, ' '  urged  his  wife.  ' '  The  time  will  go  very 

38 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

quickly  when  we  are  all  thinking  of  that.  It  is 
not  hard  to  endure  for  a  little  for  the  sake  of  'a 
gude  time  coming' — a  better  time  not  only  for 
us,  but  for  many  besides.  For  I  know  you  will 
be  the  true  sort  of  doctor,  James." 

Alice  never  quite  knew  how  they  did  manage 
during  those  two  years,  but  she  was  quite  sure 
that  work  done  for  the  sake  of  a  good  to  come 
is  all  joy. 

"I  owe  much  of  what  I  am  to  my  milkmaid 
days,"  she  said. 

She  was  always  sorry  for  children  who  do  not 
grow  up  with  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  coun- 
try. "One  is  very  near  to  all  the  simple,  real 
things  of  life  on  a  farm,"  she  used  to  say. 
"There  is  a  dewy  freshness  about  the  early 
out-of-door  experiences,  and  a  warm  wholesome- 
ness  about  tasks  that  are  a  part  of  the  common 
lot.  A  country  child  develops,  too,  a  responsi- 
bility— a  power  to  do  and  to  contrive — that  the 
city  child,  who  sees  everything  come  ready  to 
hand  from  a  near-by  store,  cannot  possibly  gain. 
However  much  some  of  my  friends  may  deplore 
my  own  early  struggle  with  poverty  and  hard 
work,  I  can  heartily  echo  George  Eliot 's  boast : 

39 


"But  were  another  childhood-world  my  share,  ^7 
I  would  be  born  a  little  sister  there." 

When  Alice  was  ten  years  old,  the  family 
moved  from  the  farm  to  the  village  of  Windsor, 
where  Dr.  Freeman  entered  upon  his  life  as  a 
doctor,  and  where  Alice 's  real  education  began. 
From  the  time  she  was  four  she  had,  for  vary- 
ing periods,  sat  on  a  bench  in  the  district  school, 
but  for  the  most  part  she  had  taught  herself. 
At  Windsor  Academy  she  had  the  advantage  of 
a  school  of  more  than  average  efficiency. 

"Words  do  not  tell  what  this  old  school  and 
place  meant  to  me  as  a  girl,"  she  said  years 
afterward.  "Here  we  gathered  abundant 
Greek,  Latin,  French,  and  mathematics;  here 
we  were  taught  truthfulness,  to  be  upright  and 
honorable ;  here  we  had  our  first  loves,  our  first 
ambitions,  our  first  dreams,  and  some  of  our 
first  disappointments.  We  owe  a  large  debt  to 
Windsor  Academy  for  the  solid  groundwork  of 
education  that  it  laid." 

More  important  than  the  excellent  curriculum 
and  wholesome  associations,  however,  was  the 
influence  of  a  friendship  with  one  of  the  teach- 
ers, a  young  Harvard  graduate  who  was  sup- 

40 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

porting  himself  while  preparing  for  the  min- 
istry. He  recognized  the  rare  nature  and  latent 
powers  of  the  girl  of  fourteen,  and  taught  her 
the  delights  of  friendship  with  Nature  and  with 
books,  and  the  joy  of  a  mind  trained  to  see  and 
appreciate.  He  gave  her  an  understanding  of 
herself,  and  aroused  the  ambition,  which  grew 
into  a  fixed  resolve,  to  go  to  college.  But  more 
than  all,  he  taught  her  the  value  of  personal  in- 
fluence. 

"It  is  people  that  count,"  she  used  to  say. 
"The  truth  and  beauty  that  are  locked  up  in 
books  and  in  nature,  to  which  only  a  few  have 
the  key,  begin  really  to  live  when  they  are  made 
over  into  human  character.  Disembodied  ideas 
may  mean  little  or  nothing ;  it  is  when  they  are 
'made  flesh'  that  they  can  speak  to  our  hearts 
and  minds. ' ' 

As  Alice  drove  about  with  her  father  when  he 
went  to  see  his  patients  and  saw  how  this  true 
"doctor  of  the  old  school"  was  a  physician  to 
the  mind  as  well  as  the  body  of  those  who 
turned  to  him  for  help,  she  came  to  a  further 
realization  of  the  truth :  It  is  people  that  count. 

"It  must  be  very  depressing  to  have  to  asso- 
41 


ciate  with  bodies  and  their  ills  all  the  time,'* 
she  ventured  one  day  when  her  father  seemed 
more  than  usually  preoccupied.  She  never  for- 
got the  light  that  shone  in  his  eyes  as  he  turned 
and  looked  at  her. 

"We  can't  begin  to  minister  to  the  body  until 
we  understand  that  spirit  is  all,"  he  said. 
"What  we  are  pleased  to  call  body  is  but  one 
expression — and  a  most  marvelous  expression 
— of  the  hidden  life 

"that  impels 

All  thinking  things,   all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things." 

It  seemed  to  Alice  that  this  might  be  a  favora- 
ble time  to  broach  the  subject  of  college.  He 
looked  at  her  in  utter  amazement;  few  girls 
thought  of  wanting  more  than  a  secondary  edu- 
cation in  those  days,  and  there  were  still  fewer 
opportunities  for  them. 

"Why,  daughter,"  he  exclaimed,  "a  little 
more  Latin  and  mathematics  won't  make  you  a 
better  home-maker !  Why  should  you  set  your 
heart  on  this  thing?" 

"I  must  go,  Father,"  she  answered  steadily. 
"It  is  not  a  sudden  notion;  I  have  realized  for 

42 


"THE  PRINCESS''  OF  WELLESLEY 

a  long  time  that  I  cannot  live  my  life — the  life 
that  I  feel  I  have  it  within  me  to  live — without 
this  training.  I  want  to  be  a  teacher — the  best 
kind  of  a  teacher — just  as  you  wanted  to  be  a 
doctor. ' ' 

'  "But,  my  dear  child,"  he  protested,  much 
troubled,  "it  will  be  as  much  as  we  can  manage 
to  see  one  of  you  through  college,  and  that  one 
should  be  Fred,  who  will  have  a  family  to  look 
out  for  one  of  these  days." 

' ' If  you  let  me  have  this  chance,  Father,"  said 
Alice,  earnestly,  "I  '11  promise  that  you  will 
never  regret  it.  I  '11  help  to  give  Fred  his 
chance,  and  see  that  the  girls  have  the  thing 
they  want  as  well." 

In  the  end  Alice  had  her  way.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  strength  of  her  single-hearted  longing  had 
power  to  compel  a  reluctant  fate.  In  June, 
1872,  when  but  a  little  over  seventeen,  she  went 
to  Ann  Arbor  to  take  the  entrance  examinations 
for  the  University  of  Michigan,  a  careful  study 
of  catalogues  having  convinced  her  that  the 
standard  of  work  was  higher  there  than  in  any 
college  then  open  to  women. 

A  disappointment  met  her  at  the  outset.    Her 
43 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

training  at  Windsor,  good  as  it  was,  did  not 
prepare  her  for  the  university  requirements. 
"Conditions"  loomed  mountain  high,  and  the 
examiners  recommended  that  she  spend  another 
year  in  preparation.  Her  intelligence  and  char- 
acter had  won  the  interest  of  President  Angell, 
however,  and  he  asked  that  she  be  granted  a 
six-weeks '  trial.  His  confidence  in  her  was  jus- 
tified; for  she  not  only  proved  her  ability  to 
keep  up  with,  her  class,  but  steadily  persevered 
in  her  double  task  until  all  conditions  were  re- 
moved. 

The  college  years  were  "a  glory  instead  of  a 
grind,"  in  spite  of  the  ever-pressing  necessity 
for  strict  economy  in  the  use  of  time  and  money. 
Her  sense  of  values — uthe  ability  to  see  large 
things  large  and  small  things  small,"  which  has 
been  called  the  best  measure  of  education, — 
showed  a  wonderful  harmony  of  powers. 
While  the  mind  was  being  stored  with  knowl- 
edge and  the  intellect  trained  to  clear,  orderly 
thinking,  there  was  never  a  "too-muchness"  in 
this  direction  that  meant  a  "not-enoughness" 
in  the  realm  of  human  relationships.  Always 
she  realized  that  it  is  people  that  count,  and  her 

44 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

supreme  test  of  education  as  of  life  was 
its  "  consecrated  serviceableness. "  President 
Angell  in  writing  of  her  said: 

One  of  her  most  striking  characteristics  in  college  was 
her  warm  and  demonstrative  sympathy  with  her  circle  of 
friends.  Her  soul  seemed  bubbling  over  with  joy,  which 
she  wished  to  share  with  the  other  girls.  While  she  was 
therefore  in  the  most  friendly  relations  with  all  those  girls 
then  in  college,  she  was  the  radiant  center  of  a  consider- 
able group  whose  tastes  were  congenial  with  her  own. 
Without  assuming  or  striving  for  leadership,  she  could  not 
but  be  to  a  certain  degree  a  leader  among  these,  some  of 
whom  have  attained  positions  only  less  conspicuous  for 
usefulness  than  her  own.  Wherever  she  went,  her  genial, 
outgoing  spirit  seemed  to  carry  with  her  an  atmosphere 
of  cheerfulness  and  joy. 

In  the  middle  of  her  junior  year,  news  came 
from  her  father  of  a  more  than  usual  financial 
stress,  owing  to  a  flood  along  the  SusqUehanna, 
which  had  swept  away  his  hope  of  present  gain 
from  a  promising  stretch  of  woodland.  It 
seemed  clear  to  Alice  that  the  time  had  come 
when  she  must  make  her  way  alone.  Through 
the  recommendation  of  President  Angell  she 
secured  a  position  as  teacher  of  Latin  and  Greek 
in  the  High  School  at  Ottawa,  Illinois,  where 
she  taught  for  five  months,  receiving  enough 

45 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

money  to  carry  her  through  the  remainder  of 
her  college  course.  The  omitted  junior  work 
was  made  up  partly  during  the  summer  vaca- 
tion and  partly  in  connection  with  the  studies 
of  the  senior  year.  An  extract  from  a  letter 
home  will  tell  how  the  busy  days  went: 

This  is  the  first  day  of  vacation.  I  have  been  so  busy 
this  year  that  it  seems  good  to  get  a  change,  even  though 
I  do  keep  right  on  here  at  work.  For  some  time  I  have 
been  giving  a  young  man  lessons  in  Greek  every  Saturday. 
I  have  had  two  junior  speeches  already,  and  there  are 
still  more.  Several  girls  from  Flint  tried  to  have  me  go 
home  with  them  for  the  vacation,  but  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  stay  and  do  what  I  could  for  myself  and  the  other  peo- 
ple here.  A  young  Mr.  M.  is  going  to  recite  to  me  every 
day  in  Virgil;  so  with  teaching  and  all  the  rest  I  shaVt 
have  time  to  be  homesick,  though  it  will  seem  rather  lonely 
when  the  other  girls  are  gone  and  I  don't  hear  the  college 
bell  for  two  weeks. 

Miss  Freeman's  early  teaching  showed  the 
vitalizing  spirit  that  marked  all  of  her  relations 
with  people. 

"She  had  a  way  of  making  you  feel  'all 
dipped  in  sunshine/  "  one  of  her  girls  said. 

"Everything  she  taught  seemed  a  part  of 
herself,"  another  explained.  "It  wasn't  just 
something  in  a  book  that  she  had  to  teach  and 
you  had  to  learn.  She  made  every  page  of  our 

46 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

history  seem  a  part  of  present  life  and  interests. 
"We  saw  and  felt  the  things  we  talked  about." 

The  fame  of  this  young  teacher's  influence 
traveled  all  the  way  from  Michigan,  where  she 
was  principal  of  the  Saginaw  High  School,  to 
Massachusetts.  Mr.  Henry  Durant,  the  foun- 
der of  Wellesley,  asked  her  to  come  to  the  new 
college  as  teacher  of  mathematics.  She  de- 
clined the  call,  however,  and,  a  year  later,  a 
second  and  more  urgent  invitation.  Her  fam- 
ily had  removed  to  Saginaw,  where  Dr.  Freeman 
was  slowly  building  up  a  practice,  and  it  would 
mean  leaving  a  home  that  needed  her.  The  one 
brother  was  now  in  the  university;  Ella  was 
soon  to  be  married;  and  Stella,  the  youngest, 
who  was  most  like  Alice  in  temperament  and 
tastes,  was  looking  forward  hopefully  to  col- 
lege. 

But  at  the  time  when  Dr.  Freeman  was  be- 
coming established  and  the  financial  outlook  be- 
gan to  brighten,  the  darkest  days  that  the  family 
had  ever  known  were  upon  them.  Stella,  the 
chief  joy  and  hope  of  them  all,  fell  seriously  ill. 
The  "little  mother"  loved  this  "starlike  girl" 
as  her  own  child,  and  looked  up  to  her  as  one 

47 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

who  would  reach  heights  her  feet  could  never" 
climb.  When  she  died  it  seemed  to  Alice  that 
she  had  lost  the  one  chance  for  a  perfectly  un- 
derstanding and  inspiring  comradeship  that  life 
offered.  At  this  time  a  third  call  came  to 
Wellesley,— as  head  of  the  department  of  his- 
tory,— and  hoping  that  a  new  place  with  new 
problems  would  give  her  a  fresh  hold  on  joy, 
she  accepted. 

Into  her  college  work  the  young  woman  of 
twenty-four  put  all  the  power  and  richness  of 
her  radiant  personality.  She  found  peace  and 
happiness  in  untiring  effort,  and  her  girls 
found  in  her  the  most  inspiring  teacher  they 
had  ever  known.  She  went  to  the  heart  of  the 
history  she  taught,  and  she  went  to  the  hearts 
of  her  pupils. 

"She  seemed  to  care  for  each  of  us — to  find 
each  as  interesting  and  worth  while  as  if  there 
were  no  other  person  in  the  world,'*  one  of  her 
students  said. 

Mr.  Durant  had  longed  to  find  just  such  a 
person  to  build  on  the  foundation  he  had  laid. 
It  was  in  her  first  year  that  he  pointed  her  out 
to  one  of  the  trustees. 

48 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

"Do  you  see  that  little  dark-eyed  girl?  She 
will  be  the  next  president  of  Wellesley,"  he 
said. 

"Surely  she  is  much  too  young  and  inexperi- 
enced for  such  a  responsibility,"  protested  the 
other,  looking  at  him  in  amazement. 

"As  for  the  first,  it  is  a  fault  we  easily  out- 
grow," said  Mr.  Durant,  dryly,  "and  as  for  her 
inexperience — well,  I  invite  you  to  visit  one  of 
her  classes." 

The  next  year,  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Durant, 
she  was  made  acting  president  of  the  college, 
and  the  year  following  she  inherited  the  title 
and  honors,  as  well  as  the  responsibilities  and 
opportunities,  of  the  office.  The  Princess  had 
come  into  her  kingdom. 

The  election  caused  a  great  stir  among  the 
students,  particularly  the  irrepressible  seniors. 
It  was  wonderful  and  most  inspiring  that  their 
splendid  Miss  Freeman,  who  was  the  youngest 
member  of  the  faculty,  should  have  won  this 
honor.  Why,  she  was  only  a  girl  like  them- 
selves !  The  time  of  strict  observances  and  tire- 
some regulations  of  every  sort  was  at  an  end. 
Miss  Freeman  seemed  to  sense  the  prevailing 

49 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

mood,  and,  without  waiting  for  a  formal  assem- 
bly, asked  the  seniors  to  meet  her  in  her  rooms. 
In  they  poured,  overflowing  chairs,  tables,  and 
ranging  themselves  about  on  the  floor  in  ani- 
mated, expectant  groups.  The  new  head  of  the 
college  looked  at  them  quietly  for  a  minute  be- 
fore she  began  to  speak. 

"I  have  sent  for  you  seniors,'*  she  said  at  last 
seriously,  "to  ask  your  advice.  You  may  have 
heard  that  I  have  been  called  to  the  position  of 
acting  president  of  your  college.  I  am,  of 
course,  too  young;  and  the  duties  are,  as  you 
know,  too  heavy  for  the  strongest  to  carry  alone. 
If  I  must  manage  alone,  there  is  only  one  course 
— to  decline.  It  has,  however,  occurred  to  me 
that  my  seniors  might  be  willing  to  help  by 
looking  after  the  order  of  the  college  and  leav- 
ing me  free  for  administration.  Shall  I  accept  I 
Shall  we  work  things  out  together?" 

The  hearty  response  made  it  clear  that  the 
princess  was  to  rule  not  only  by  "divine  right," 
but  also  by  the  glad  "consent  of  the  governed." 
Perhaps  it  was  her  youth  and  charm  and  the 
romance  of  her  brilliant  success  that  won  for 
her  the  affectionate  title  of  "The  Princess"; 

50 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

perhaps  it  was  her  undisputed  sway  in  her  king- 
dom of  girls.  It  was  said  that  her  radiant, 
"outgoing  spirit"  was  felt  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  place  and  in  all  the  graduates.  Her  spirit 
became  the  Wellesley  spirit. 

"What  did  she  do  besides  turning  all  of  you 
into  an  adoring  band  of  Freeman-followers  ?  "  a 
"Wellesley  woman  was  asked. 

The  reply  came  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion :  "She  had  the  life-giving  power  of  a  true 
creator,  one  who  can  entertain  a  vision  of  the 
ideal,  and  then  work  patiently  bit  by  bit  to 
*  carve  it  in  the  marble  real.'  She  built  the 
Wellesley  we  all  know  and  love,  making  it  prac- 
tical, constructive,  fine,  generous,  human,  spir- 
itual." 

For  six  years  the  Princess  of  Wellesley  ruled 
her  kingdom  wisely.  She  raised  the  standard 
of  work,  enlisted  the  interest  and  support 
of  those  in  a  position  to  help,  added  to  the  build- 
ings and  equipment,  and  won  the  enthusiastic 
cooperation  of  students,  faculty,  and  public. 
Then,  one  day,  she  voluntarily  stepped  down 
from  her  throne,  leaving  others  to  go  on  with 
the  work  she  had  begun.  She  married  Profes- 

51 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

sor  George  Herbert  Palmer  of  Harvard,  and^ 
(quite  in  the  manner  of  the  fairy-tale)  " lived 
happily  ever  after." 

"What  a  disappointment!"  some  of  her 
friends  said.  "That  a  woman  of  such  unusual 
powers  and  gifts  should  deliberately  leave  a 
place  of  large  usefulness  and  influence  to  shut 
herself  up  in  the  concerns  of  a  single  home!" 

* '  There  is  nothing  better  than  the  making  of 
a  true  home,'1?  said  Alice  Freeman  Palmer.  "I 
shall  not  be  shut  away  from  the  concerns  of 
others,  but  more  truly  a  part  of  them.  'For 
love  is  fellow-service,'  I  believe." 

The  home  near  Harvard  Yard  was  soon  felt 
to  be  the  most  free  and  perfect  expression  of 
her  generous  nature.  Its  happiness  made  all 
life  seem  happier.  Shy  undergraduates  and 
absorbed  students  who  had  withdrawn  over- 
much within  themselves  and  their  pet  problems 
found  there  a  thaw  after  their  "winter  of  dis- 
content." Wellesley  girls— even  in  those  days 
before  automobiles — did  not  feel  fifteen  miles 
too  great  a  distance  to  go  for  a  cup  of  tea  and 
a  half-hour  by  the  fire. 

Many  were  surprised  that  Mrs.  Palmer  never 
52 


College   Hall,   destroyed   by   fire   in    1914 


Tower  Court,  which  stands  on  the  site  of 
College  Hall 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

seemed  worn  by  the  unstinted  giving  of  herself 
to  the  demands  of  others  on  her  time  and  sym- 
pathy. The  reason  was  that  their  interests 
were  her  interests.  Her  spirit  was  indeed 
"outgoing";  there  was  no  wall  hedging  in  a 
certain  number  of  things  and  people  as  hers, 
with  the  rest  of  the  world  outside.  As  we  have 
seen,  people  counted  with  her  supremely;  and 
the  ideas  which  moved  her  were  those  which  she 
found  embodied  in  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  hu- 
man hearts. 
Mrs.  Palmer  wrote  of  her  days  at  this  time : 

I  don't  know  what  will  happen  if  life  keeps  on  growing 
so  much  better  and  brighter  each  year.  How  does  your 
cup  manage  to  hold  so  much?  Mine  is  running  over,  and 
I  keep  getting  larger  cups;  but  I  can't  contain  all  my 
blessings  and  gladness.  We  are  both  so  well  and  busy 
that  the  days  are  never  half  long  enough. 

Life  held,  indeed,  a  full  measure  of  oppor- 
tunities for  service.  Wellesley  claimed  her  as 
a  member  of  its  executive  committee,  and  other 
colleges  sought  her  counsel.  When  Chicago 
University  was  founded,  she  was  induced  to 
serve  as  its  Dean  of  Women  until  the  oppor- 
tunities for  girls  there  were  wisely  established. 

55 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

She  worked  energetically  raising  funds  for  Rad- 
cliffe  and  her  own  Wellesley.  Throughout  the 
country  her  wisdom  as  an  educational  expert 
was  recognized,  and  her  advice  sought  in  mat- 
ters of  organization  and  administration.  For 
several  years,  as  a  member  of  the  Massachu- 
setts State  Board  of  Education,  she  worked 
early  and  late  to  improve  the  efficiency  and  in- 
fluence of  the  normal  schools.  She  was  a  public 
servant  who  brought  into  all  her  contact  with 
groups  and  masses  of  people  the  simple  direct- 
ness and  intimate  charm  that  marked  her  touch 
with  individuals. 

"How  is  it  that  you  are  able  to  do  so  much 
more  than  other  people!"  asked  a  tired,  nervous 
woman,  who  stopped  Mrs.  Palmer  for  a  word 
at  the  close  of  one  of  her  lectures. 

11  Because,"  she  answered,  with  the  sudden 
gleam  of  a  smile,  "I  haven't  any  nerves  nor 
any  conscience,  and  my  husband  says  I  have  n't 
any  backbone." 

It  was  true  that  she  never  worried.  She  had 
early  learned  to  live  one  day  at  a  time,  without 
' '  looking  before  and  after. ' '  And  nobody  knew 
better  than  Mrs.  Palmer  the  renewing  power  of 

56 


"THE  PRINCESS"  OF  WELLESLEY 

joy.  She  could  romp  with  some  of  her  very 
small  friends  in  the  half -hour  before  an  impor- 
tant meeting ;  go  for  a  long  walk  or  ride  along 
country  lanes  when  a  vexing  problem  confronted 
her;  or  spend  a  quiet  evening  by  the  fire  read- 
ing aloud  from  one  of  her  favorite  poets  at  the 
end  of  a  busy  day. 

For  fifteen  years  Mrs.  Palmer  lived  this  life 
of  joyful,  untiring  service.  Then,  at  the  time 
of  her  greatest  power  and  usefulness,  she  died. 
The  news  came  as  a  personal  loss  to  thousands. 
Just  as  Wellesley  had  mourned  her  removal  to 
Cambridge,  so  a  larger  world  mourned  her 
earthly  passing.  But  her  friends  soon  found 
that  it  was  impossible  to  grieve  or  to  feel  for 
a  moment  that  she  was  dead.  The  echoes  of 
her  life  were  living  echoes  in  the  world  of  those 
who  knew  her. 

There  are  many  memorials  speaking  in  dif- 
ferent places  of  her  work.  In  the  chapel  at 
Wellesley,  where  it  seems  to  gather  at  every 
hour  a  golden  glory  of  light,  is  the  lovely  trans- 
parent marble  by  Daniel  Chester  French,  eter- 
nally bearing  witness  to  the  meaning  of  her  in- 
fluence with  her  girls.  In  the  tower  at  Chicago 

57 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

the  chimes  "make  music,  joyfully  to  recalFT 
her  labors  there.  But  more  lasting  than  marble 
or  bronze  is  the  living  memorial  in  the  hearts 
and  minds  "made  better  by  her  presence." 
For  it  is,  indeed,  people  that  count,  and  in  the 
richer  lives  of  many  the  enkindling  spirit  of 
Alice  Freeman  Palmer  still  lives. 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  RED  CROSS: 
CLARA  BARTON 


Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three, — 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  Me. 

"The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal."— LOWELL. 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  RED  CROSS 

'  A  CHRISTMAS  baby!  Now  isn't  that  the 
<LJL  best  kind  of  a  Christmas  gift  for  us  all?'* 
cried  Captain  Stephen  Barton,  who  took  the 
interesting  flannel  bundle  from  the  nurse's  arms 
and  held  it  out  proudly  to  the  assembled  fam- 

iiy. 

No  longed-for  heir  to  a  waiting  kingdom  could 
have  received  a  more  royal  welcome  than  did 
that  little  girl  who  appeared  at  the  Barton  home 
in  Oxford,  Massachusetts,  on  Christmas  Day, 
1821.  Ten  years  had  passed  since  a  child  had 
come  to  the  comfortable  farm-house,  and  the 
four  big  brothers  and  sisters  were  very  sure  that 
they  could  not  have  had  a  more  precious  gift 
than  this  Christmas  baby.  No  one  doubted  that 
she  deserved  a  distinguished  name,  but  it  was 
due  to  Sister  Dorothy,  who  was  a  young  lady  of 
romantic  seventeen  and  something  of  a  reader, 
that  she  was  called  Clarissa  Harlowe,  after  a 
well-known  heroine  of  fiction.  The  name  which 

61 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

this  heroine  of  real  life  actually  bore  and  made' 
famous,  however,  was  Clara  Barton;  for  the 
Christmas  baby  proved  to  be  a  gift  not  only  to 
a  little  group  of  loving  friends,  but  also  to  a 
great  nation  and  to  humanity. 

The  sisters  and  brothers  were  teachers  rather 
than  playmates  for  Clara,  and  her  education  be- 
gan so  early  that  she  had  no  recollection  of  the 
way  they  led  her  toddling  steps  through  the  be- 
ginnings of  book-learning.  On  her  first  day  at 
school  she  announced  to  the  amazed  teacher 
who  tried  to  put  a  primer  into  her  hands  that 
she  could  spell  the  "artichoke  words.'*  The 
teacher  had  other  surprises  besides  the  discov- 
ery that  this  mite  of  three  was  acquainted  with 
three-syllabled  lore. 

Brother  Stephen,  who  was  a  wizard  with  fig- 
ures, had  made  the  sums  with  which  he  covered 
her  slate  seem  a  fascinating  sort  of  play  at  a 
period  when  most  infants  are  content  with 
counting  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  All  other  in- 
terests, however,  paled  before  the  stories  that 
her  father  told  her  of  great  men  and  their  splen- 
did deeds. 

Captain  Barton  was  amused  one  day  at  the 
62 


CLARA  BAETON 

discovery  that  his  precocious  daughter,  who  al- 
ways eagerly  encored  his  tales  of  conquerors 
and  leaders,  thought  of  their  greatness  in  im- 
ages of  quite  literal  and  realistic  bigness.  A 
president  must,  for  instance,  be  as  large  as  a 
house,  and  a  vice-president  as  spacious  as  a 
barn  door  at  the  very  least.  But  these  some- 
what crude  conceptions  did  not  put  a  check  on 
the  epic  recitals  of  the  retired  officer,  who,  in 
the  intervals  of  active  service  in  plowed  fields 
or  in  pastures  where  his  thoroughbreds  grazed 
with  their  mettlesome  colts,  liked  to  live  over 
the  days  when  he  served  under  "Mad  Anthony" 
Wayne  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  and  had  a 
share  in  the  thrilling  adventures  of  the  Western 
frontier. 

Clara  was  only  five  years  old  when  Brother 
David  taught  her  to  ride.  "Learning  to  ride 
is  just  learning  a  horse,"  said  this  daring  youth, 
who  was  the  "Buffalo  Bill"  of  the  surrounding 
country. 

"How  can  I  learn  a  horse,  David?"  quavered 
the  child,  as  the  high-spirited  animals  came 
whinnying  to  the  pasture  bars  at  her  brother's 
call. 

63 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

"Catch  hold  of  his  mane,  Clara,  and  just  feel 
the  horse  a  part  of  yourself — the  big  half  for  the 
time  being,"  said  David,  as  he  put  her  on  the 
back  of  a  colt  that  was  broken  only  to  bit  and 
halter,  and,  easily  springing  on  his  favorite,  held 
the  reins  of  both  in  one  hand,  while  he  steadied 
the  small  sister  with  the  other  by  seizing  hold  of 
one  excited  foot. 

They  went  over  the  fields  at  a  gallop  that  first 
day,  and  soos  little  Clara  and  her  mount  under- 
stood each  other  so  well  that  her  riding  feats 
became  almost  as  far-famed  as  those  of  her 
brother.  The  time  came  when  her  skill  and  con- 
fidence on  horseback — her  power  to  feel  the  ani- 
mal she  rode  a  part  of  herself  and  keep  her  place 
in  any  sort  of  saddle  through  night-long  gallops 
— meant  the  saving  of  many  lives. 

David  taught  her  many  other  practical  things 
that  helped  to  make  her  steady  and  self-reliant 
in  the  face  of  emergencies.  She  learned,  for  in- 
stance, to  drive  a  nail  straight,  and  to  tie  a  knot 
that  would  hold.  Eye  and  hand  were  trained  to 
work  together  with  quick  decision  that  made  for 
readiness  and  efficiency  in  dealing  with  a  situa- 
tion, whether  it  meant  the  packing  of  a  box,  or 

64 


CLABA  BARTON 

first-aid  measures  after  an  accident  on  the  skat- 
ing-pond. 

She  was  always  an  outdoor  child,  with  dogs, 
horses,  and  ducks  for  playfellows.  The  fuzzy 
ducklings  were  the  best  sort  of  dolls.  Some- 
times when  wild  ducks  visited  the  pond  and  all 
her  waddling  favorites  hegan  to  flap  their  wings 
excitedly,  it  seemed  that  her  young  heart  felt, 
too,  the  call  of  large,  free  spaces. 

''The  only  real  fun  is  to  do  things,"  she  used 
to  say. 

She  rode  after  the  cows,  helped  in  the  milking 
and  churning,  and  followed  her  father  about, 
dropping  potatoes  in  their  holes  or  helping  weed 
the  garden.  Once,  when  the  house  was  being 
painted,  she  begged  to  be  allowed  to  assist  in  the 
work,  even  learning  to  grind  the  pigments  and 
mix  the  colors.  The  family  was  at  first  amused 
and  then  amazed  at  the  persistency  of  her  appli- 
cation as  day  after  day  she  donned  her  apron 
and  fell  to  work. 

They  were  not  less  astonished  when  she 
wanted  to  learn  the  work  of  the  weavers  in  her 
brothers'  satinet  mills.  At  first,  her  mother  re- 
fused this  extraordinary  request;  but  Stephen, 

65 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

who  understood  the  intensity  of  her  craving  to 
do  things,  took  her  part ;  and  at  the  end  of  her 
first  week  at  the  flying  shuttle  Clara  had  the 
satisfaction  of  finding  that  her  cloth  was  passed 
as  first-quality  goods.  Her  career  as  a  weaver 
was  of  short  duration,  however,  owing  to  a  fire 
which  destroyed  the  mills. 

The  young  girl  was  as  enthusiastic  in  play  as 
at  work.  Whether  it  was  a  canter  over  the 
fields  on  Bitly  while  her  dog,  Button,  dashed 
along  at  her  side,  his  curly  white  tail  bohbing 
ecstatically,  or  a  coast  down  the  rolling  hills  in 
winter,  she  entered  into  the  sport  of  the  moment 
with  her  whole  heart. 

When  there  was  no  outlet  for  her  superabun- 
dant energy,  she  was  genuinely  unhappy.  Then 
it  was  that  a  self-consciousness  and  morbid  sen- 
sitiveness became  so  evident  that  it  was  a  source 
of  real  concern  to  her  friends. 

"People  say  that  I  must  have  been  born 
brave,"  said  Clara  Barton.  "Why,  I  seem  to 
remember  nothing  but  terrors  in  my  early  days. 
I  was  a  shrinking  little  bundle  of  fears — fears 
of  thunder,  fears  of  strange  faces,  fears  of  my 
strange  self."  It  was  only  when  thought  and 

66 


CLARA  BARTON 

feeling  were  merged  in  the  zest  of  some  inter- 
esting activity  that  she  lost  her  painful  shyness 
and  found  herself. 

When  she  was  eleven  years  old  she  had  her 
first  experience  as  a  nurse.  A  fall  which  gave 
David  a  serious  blow  on  the  head,  together  with 
the  bungling  ministrations  of  doctors,  who, 
when  in  doubt,  had  recourse  only  to  the  heroic 
treatment  of  bleeding  and  leeches,  brought  the 
vigorous  young  brother  to  a  protracted  invalid- 
ism.  For  two  years  Clara  was  his  constant  and 
devoted  attendant.  She  schooled  herself  to  re- 
main calm,  cheerful,  and  resourceful  in  the  pres- 
ence of  suffering  and  exacting  demands.  When 
others  gave  way  to  fatigue  or  " nerves,"  her 
wonderful  instinct  for  action  kept  her,  child 
though  she  was,  at  her  post.  Her  sympathy  ex- 
pressed itself  in  untiring  service. 

In  the  years  that  followed  her  brother's  re- 
covery Clara  became  a  real  problem  to  herself 
and  her  friends.  The  old  blighting  sensitive- 
ness made  her  school-days  restless  and  unhappy 
in  spite  of  her  alert  mind  and  many  interests. 

At  length  her  mother,  at  her  wit 's  end  because 
of  this  baffling,  morbid  strain  in  her  remarkable 

67 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

daughter,  was  advised  by  a  man  of  sane  judf- 
ment  and  considerable  understanding  of  child 
nature,  to  throw  responsibility  upon  her  and 
give  her  a  school  to  teach. 

It  happened,  therefore,  that  when  Clara  Bar- 
ton was  fifteen  she  "put  down  her  skirts,  put 
up  her  hair,'*  and  entered  upon  her  successful 
career  as  a  teacher.  She  liked  the  children  and 
believed  in  them,  entering  enthusiastically  into 
their  concerns,  and  opening  the  way  to  new  in- 
terests. When  asked  how  she  managed  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  troublesome  ones,  she  said,  * '  The 
children  give  no  trouble;  I  never  have  to  dis- 
cipline at  all,'*  quite  unconscious  of  the  fact 
that  her  vital  influence  gave  her  a  control  that 
made  assertion  of  authority  unnecessary. 

"When  the  boys  found  that  I  was  as  strong 
as  they  were  and  could  teach  them  something  on 
the  playground,  they  thought  that  perhaps  we 
might  discover  together  a  few  other  worth-while 
things  in  school  hours,"  she  said. 

For  eighteen  years  Clara  Barton  was  a 
teacher.  Always  learning  herself  while  teach- 
ing others,  she  decided  in  1852  to  enter  Clinton 
Liberal  Institute  in  New  York  as  a  pupil  for 

68 


CLARA  BARTON 

graduation,  for  there  was  then  no  college  whose 
doors  were  open  to  women.  When  she  had  all 
that  the  Institute  could  give  her,  she  looked 
about  for  new  fields  for  effort. 

In  Bordentown,  New  Jersey,  she  found  there 
was  a  peculiar  need  for  some  one  who  would 
bring  to  her  task  pioneer  zeal  as  well  as  the  pas- 
sion for  teaching.  At  that  time  there  were  no 
public  schools  in  the  town  or,  indeed,  in  the 
State. 

"The  people  who  pose  as  respectable  are  too 
proud  and  too  prejudiced  to  send  their  boys  and 
girls  to  a  free  pauper  school,  and  in  the  mean- 
time all  the  children  run  wild, ' '  Miss  Barton  was 
told. 

"We  have  tried  again  and  again,"  said  a  dis- 
couraged young  pedagogue.  "It  is  impossible 
to  do  anything  in  this  place." 

"Give  me  three  months,  and  I  will  teach 
free,"  said  Clara  Barton. 

This  was  just  the  sort  of  challenge  she  loved. 
There  was  something  to  be  done.  She  began 
with  six  unpromising  gamins  in  a  dilapidated, 
empty  building.  In  a  month  her  quarters 
proved  too  narrow.  Each  youngster  became  an 

69 


HEEOINES  OF  SERVICE 

enthusiastic  and  effectual  advertisement.  As 
always,  her  success  lay  in  an  understanding  of 
her  pupils  as  individuals,  and  a  quickening  in- 
terest that  brought  out  the  latent  possibilities  of 
each.  The  school  of  six  grew  in  a  year  to  one 
of  six  hundred,  and  the  thoroughly  converted 
citizens  built  an  eight-room  school-house  where 
Miss  Barton  remained  as  principal  and  teacher 
until  a  breakdown  of  her  voice  made  a  complete 
rest  necessary. 

The  weak'  throat  soon  made  it  evident  that 
her  teaching  days  were  over;  but  she  found  at 
the  same  time  in  Washington,  where  she  had 
gone  for  recuperation,  a  new  work. 

" Living  is  doing,"  she  said.  "Even  while 
we  say  there  is  nothing  we  can  do,  we  stumble 
over  the  opportunities  for  service  that  we  are 
passing  by  in  our  tear-blinded  self -pity. " 

The  over-sensitive  girl  had  learned  her  lesson 
well.  Life  offered  moment  by  moment  too 
many  chances  for  action  for  a  single  worker  to 
turn  aside  to  bemoan  his  own  particular  condi- 
tion. 

The  retired  teacher  became  a  confidential  sec- 
retary in  the  office  of  the  Commissioner  of  Pat- 

70 


CLARA  BARTON 

ents.  Great  confusion  existed  in  the  Patent 
Office  at  that  time  because  some  clerks  had  be- 
trayed  the  secrets  of  certain  inventions.  Miss 
Barton  was  the  first  woman  to  be  employed  in  a 
Government  department;  and  while  ably  hand- 
ling the  critical  situation  that  called  for  all  her 
energy  and  resourcefulness,  she  had  to  cope  not 
only  with  the  scarcely  veiled  enmity  of  those 
fellow-workers  who  were  guilty  or  jealous,  but 
also  with  the  open  antagonism  of  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  clerks,  who  were  indignant  because  a 
woman  had  been  placed  in  a  position  of  respon- 
sibility and  influence.  She  endured  covert 
slander  and  deliberate  disrespect,  letting  her 
character  and  the  quality  of  her  work  speak  for 
themselves.  They  spoke  so  eloquently  that 
when  a  change  in  political  control  caused  her 
removal,  she  was  before  long  recalled  to 
straighten  out  the  tangle  that  had  ensued. 

At  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War  Miss  Barton 
was,  therefore,  at  the  very  storm-center. 

The  early  days  of  the  conflict  found  her  bind- 
ing up  the  wounds  of  the  Massachusetts  boys 
who  had  been  attacked  by  a  mob  while  passing 
through  Baltimore,  and  who  for  a  time  were 

71 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

quartered  in  the  Capitol.  Some  of  these  re- 
cruits were  boys  from  Miss  Barton's  own  town 
who  had  been  her  pupils,  and  all  were  dear  to 
her  because  they  were  offering  their  lives  for 
the  Union.  We  find  her  with  other  volunteer 
nurses  caring  for  the  injured,  feeding  groups 
who  gathered  about  her  in  the  Senate  Chamber, 
and,  from  the  desk  of  the  President  of  the  Sen- 
ate, reading  them  the  home  news  from  the  "Wor- 
cester papers. 

Meeting  the  needs  as  they  presented  them- 
selves in  that  time  of  general  panic  and  distress, 
she  sent  to  the  Worcester  "Spy"  appeals  for 
money  and  supplies.  Other  papers  took  up  the 
work,  and  soon  Miss  Barton  had  to  secure  space 
in  a  large  warehouse  to  hold  the  provisions  that 
poured  in. 

Not  for  many  days,  however,  did  she  remain 
a  steward  of  supplies.  When  she  met  the  trans- 
ports which  brought  the  wounded  into  the  city, 
her  whole  nature  revolted  at  the  sight  of  the 
untold  suffering  and  countless  deaths  which 
were  resulting  from  delay  in  caring  for  the  in- 
jured. Her  flaming  ardor,  her  rare  executive 
ability,  and  her  tireless  persistency  won  for  her 

72 


the  confidence  of  those  in  command,  and,  though 
it  was  against  all  traditions,  to  say  nothing  of 
iron-clad  army  regulations,  she  obtained  per- 
mission to  go  with  her  stores  of  food,  bandages, 
and  medicines  to  the  firing-line,  where  relief 
might  be  given  on  the  battle-field  at  the  time  of 
direst  need.  The  girl  who  had  been  a  "bundle 
of  fears ' '  had  grown  into  the  woman  who  braved 
every  danger  and  any  suffering  to  carry  help 
to  her  fellow-countrymen. 

People  who  spoke  of  her  rare  initiative  and 
practical  judgment  had  little  comprehension  of 
the  absolute  simplicity  and  directness  of  her 
methods.  She  managed  the  sulky,  rebellious 
drivers  of  her  army-wagons,  who  had  little  re- 
spect for  orders  that  placed  a  woman  in  control, 
in  the  same  way  that  she  had  managed  children 
in  school.  Without  relaxing  her  firmness,  she 
spoke  to  them  courteously,  and  called  them  to 
share  the  warm  dinner  she  had  prepared  and 
spread  out  in  appetizing  fashion.  When,  after 
clearing  away  the  dishes,  she  was  sitting  alone 
by  the  fire,  the  men  returned  in  an  awkward, 
self-conscious  group. 

"We  didn't  come  to  get  warm,"  said  their 
73 


HEEOINES  OF  SEEVICE 

spokesman,  as  she  kindly  moved  to  make  room 
for  them  at  the  flames,  "we  come  to  tell  you  we 
are  ashamed.  The  truth  is  we  did  n't  want  to 
come.  We  know  there  is  fighting  ahead,  and 
we  've  seen  enough  of  that  for  men  who  don't 
carry  muskets,  only  whips ;  and  then  we  've 
never  seen  a  train  under  charge  of  a  woman 
before,  and  we  could  n't  understand  it.  We  've 
been  mean  and  contrary  all  day,  and  you  've 
treated  us  as  if  we  'd  been  the  general  and  his 
staff,  and  given  us  the  best  meal  we  Ve  had 
in  two  years.  We  want  to  ask  your  forgive- 
ness, and  we  sha'n't  trouble  you  again." 

She  found  that  a  comfortable  bed  had  been 
arranged  for  her  in  her  ambulance,  a  lantern 
was  hanging  from  the  roof,  and  when  next 
morning  she  emerged  from  her  shelter,  a  steam- 
ing breakfast  awaited  her  and  a  devoted  corps 
of  assistants  stood  ready  for  orders. 

"I  had  cooked  my  last  meal  for  my  drivers," 
said  Clara  Barton.  l '  These  men  remained  with 
me  six  months  through  frost  and  snow  and 
march  and  camp  and  battle;  they  nursed  the 
sick,  dressed  the  wounded,  soothed  the  dying, 

74 


CLAEA  BARTON 

and  buried  the  dead ;  and,  if  possible,  they  grew 
kinder  and  gentler  every  day." 

An  incident  that  occurred  at  Antietam  is 
typical  of  her  quiet  efficiency.  According  to 
her  directions,  the  wounded  were  being  fed  with 
bread  and  crackers  moistened  in  wine,  when  one 
of  her  assistants  came  to  report  that  the  entire 
supply  was  exhausted,  while  many  helpless  ones 
lay  on  the  field  unfed.  Miss  Barton's  quick  eye 
had  noted  that  the  boxes  from  which  the  wine 
was  taken  had  fine  Indian  meal  as  packing.  Six 
large  kettles  were  at  once  unearthed  from  the 
farm-house  in  which  they  had  taken  quarters, 
and  soon  her  men  were  carrying  buckets  of  hot 
gruel  for  miles  over  the  fields  where  lay  hun- 
dreds of  wounded  and  dying.  Suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  her  labors,  Miss  Barton  came  upon  the 
surgeon  in  charge  sitting  alone,  gazing  at  a 
small  piece  of  tallow  candle  which  flickered  un- 
certainly in  the  middle  of  the  table. 

"Tired,  Doctor?"  she  asked  sympathetically. 

" Tired  indeed!"  he  replied  bitterly;  " tired 
of  such  heartless  neglect  and  carelessness. 
What  am  I  to  do  for  my  thousand  wounded  men 

75 


•with  night  here  and  that  inch  of  candle  all  tlfe 
light  I  have  or  can  get?" 

Miss  Barton  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  to  the  door,  where  he  could  see  near  the 
barn  scores  of  lanterns  gleaming  like  stars. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  amazedly. 

"The  barn  is  lighted,"  she  replied,  "and  the 
house  will  be  directly. ' ' 

"Where  did  you  get  them?"  he  gasped. 

"Brought  them  with  me." 

"How  many  have  you?" 

"All  you  want — four  boxes." 

The  surgeon  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  as  if 
he  were  waking  from  a  dream ;  and  then,  as  if  it 
were  the  only  answer  he  could  make,  fell  to 
work.  And  so  it  was  invariably  that  she  won 
her  complete  command  of  people  as  she  did  of 
situations,  by  always  proving  herself  equal  to 
the  emergency  of  the  moment. 

Though,  as  she  said  in  explaining  the  tardi- 
ness of  a  letter,  "my  hands  complain  a  little 
of  unaccustomed  hardships, "  she  never  com- 
plained of  any  ill,  nor  allowed  any  danger  or 
difficulty  to  interrupt  her  work. 

"What  are  my  puny  ailments  beside  the 
76 


CLARA  BARTON 

agony  of  our  poor  shattered  boys  lying  help- 
less on  the  field!"  she  said.  And  so,  while  doc- 
tors and  officers  wondered  at  her  unlimited  ca- 
pacity for  prompt  and  effective  action,  the  men 
who  had  felt  her  sympathetic  touch  and  effec- 
tual aid  loved  and  revered  her  as  ' '  The  Angel  of 
the  Battlefield." 

One  incident  well  illustrates  the  characteris- 
tic confidence  with  which  she  moved  about  amid 
scenes  of  terror  and  panic.  At  Fredericks- 
burg,  when  "every  street  was  a  firing-line  and 
every  house  a  hospital,"  she  was  passing  along 
when  she  had  to  step  aside  to  allow  a  regiment 
of  infantry  to  sweep  by.  At  that  moment  Gen- 
eral Patrick  caught  sight  of  her,  and,  thinking 
she  was  a  bewildered  resident  of  the  city  who 
had  been  left  behind  in  the  general  exodus, 
leaned  from  his  saddle  and  said  reassuringly : 

"You  are  alone  and  in  great  danger,  madam. 
Do  you  want  protection!" 

Miss  Barton  thanked  him  with  a  smile,  and 
said,  looking  about  at  the  ranks,  "I  believe  I 
am  the  best-protected  woman  in  the  United 
States." 

The  soldiers  near  overheard  and  cried  out, 
77 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

"That 's  so!  that 's  so!"  And  the  cheer  that 
they  gave  was  echoed  by  line  after  line  until  a 
mighty  shout  went  up  as  for  a  victory. 

The  courtly  old  general  looked  about  com- 
prehendingly,  and,  bowing  low,  said  as  he 
galloped  away,  "I  believe  you  are  right, 
madam. ' ' 

Clara  Barton  was  present  on  sixteen  battle- 
fields; she  was  eight  months  at  the  siege  of 
Charleston,  a^nd  served  for  a  considerable  period 
in  the  hospitals  of  Richmond. 

When  the  war  was  ended  and  the  survivors  of 
the  great  armies  were  marching  homeward,  her 
heart  was  touched  by  the  distress  in  many 
homes  where  sons  and  fathers  and  brothers 
were  among  those  listed  as  "missing."  In  all, 
there  were  80,000  men  of  whom  no  definite  re- 
port could  be  given  to  their  friends.  She  was 
assisting  President  Lincoln  in  answering  the 
hundreds  of  heartbroken  letters,  imploring 
news,  which  poured  in  from  all  over  the  land 
when  his  tragic  death  left  her  alone  with  the 
task.  Then,  as  no  funds  were  available  to 
finance  a  thorough  investigation  of  every  sort 
of  record  of  States,  hospitals,  prisons,  and  bat- 

78 


Clara  Barton 


tie-fields,  she  maintained  out  of  her  own  means 
a  bureau  to  prosecute  the  search. 

Four  years  were  spent  in  this  great  labor, 
during  which  time  Miss  Barton  made  many  pub- 
lic addresses,  the  proceeds  of  which  were  de- 
voted to  the  cause.  One  evening  in  the  winter 
of  1868,  while  in  the  midst  of  a  lecture,  her 
voice  suddenly  left  her.  This  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  complete  nervous  collapse.  The  hard- 
ships and  prolonged  strain  had,  in  spite  of  her 
robust  constitution  and  iron  will,  told  at  last  on 
the  endurance  of  that  loyal  worker. 

When  able  to  travel,  she  went  to  Geneva, 
Switzerland,  in  the  hope  of  winning  back  her 
health  and  strength.  Soon  after  her  arrival 
she  was  visited  by  the  president  and  members 
of  the  "International  Committee  for  the  Eelief 
of  the  Wounded  in  War,"  who  came  to  learn 
why  the  United  States  had  refused  to  sign  the 
Treaty  of  Geneva,  providing  for  the  relief  of 
sick  and  wounded  soldiers.  Of  all  the  civilized 
nations,  our  great  republic  alone  most  unac- 
countably held  aloof. 

.    Miss  Barton  at  once  set  herself  to  learn  all 
she  could  about  the  ideals  and  methods  of  the 

81 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

International  Red  Cross,  and  during  the  Franco* 
Prussian  War  she  had  abundant  opportunity 
to  see  and  experience  its  practical  working  on 
the  battle-field. 

At  the  outbreak  of  the  war  in  1870  she  was 
urged  to  go  as  a  leader,  taking  the  same  part 
that  she  had  borne  in  the  Civil  War. 

"I  had  not  strength  to  trust  for  that,"  said 
Clara  Barton,  "and  declined  with  thanks,  prom- 
ising to  follow  in  my  own  time  and  way;  and 
I  did  follow  within  a  week.  As  I  journeyed 
on,"  she  continued,  "I  saw  the  work  of  these 
Red  Cross  societies  in  the  field  accomplishing 
in  four  months  under  their  systematic  organiza- 
tion what  we  failed  to  accomplish  in  four  years 
without  it — no  mistakes,  no  needless  suffering, 
no  waste,  no  confusion,  but  order,  plenty,  clean- 
liness, and  comfort  wherever  that  little  flag 
made  its  way — a  whole  continent  marshaled  un- 
der the  banner  of  the  Red  Cross.  As  I  saw  all 
this  and  joined  and  worked  in  it,  you  will  not 
wonder  that  I  said  to  myself  'if  I  live  to  return 
to  my  country,  I  will  try  to  make  my  people 
understand  the  Red  Cross  and  that  treaty. '  '  * 

Months  of  service  in  caring  for  the  wounded 
82 


CLARA  BARTON 

and  the  helpless  victims  of  siege  and  famine 
were  followed  by  a  period  of  nervous  exhaus- 
tion from  which  she  but  slowly  crept  back  to 
her  former  hold  on  health.  At  last  she  was 
able  to  return  to  America  to  devote  herself  to 
bringing  her  country  into  line  with  the  Red 
Cross  movement.  She  found  that  traditionary 
prejudice  against  "  entangling  alliances  with 
other  powers,"  together  with  a  singular  failure 
to  comprehend  the  vital  importance  of  the  mat- 
ter, militated  against  the  great  cause. 

"Why  should  we  make  provision  for  the 
wounded?"  it  was  said.  "We  shall  never  have 
another  war;  we  have  learned  our  lesson." 

It  came  to  Miss  Barton  then  that  the  work  of 
the  Red  Cross  should  be  extended  to  disasters, 
such  as  fires,  floods,  earthquakes,  and  epidemics 
— "great  public  calamities  which  require,  like 
war,  prompt  and  well-organized  help. ' ' 

Years  of  devoted  missionary  work  with  pre- 
occupied officials  and  a  heedless,  short-sighted 
public  at  length  bore  fruit.  After  the  Geneva 
Treaty  received  the  signature  of  President 
Arthur  on  March  1,  1882,  it  was  promptly  rati- 
fied by  the  Senate,  and  the  American  National 

83 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

Red  Cross  came  into  being,  with  Clara  BartoH 
as  its  first  president.  Through  her  influence, 
too,  the  International  Congress  of  Berne 
adopted  the  " American  Amendment,"  which 
dealt  with  the  extension  of  the  Red  Cross  to 
relief  measures  in  great  calamities  occurring  in 
times  of  peace. 

The  story  of  her  life  from  this  time  on  is  one 
with  the  story  of  the  work  of  the  Red  Cross 
during  the  stress  of  such  disasters  as  the  Mis- 
sissippi River  floods,  the  Texas  famine  in  1885, 
the  Charleston  earthquake  in  1886,  the  Johns- 
town flood  in  1899,  the  Russian  famine  in  1892, 
and  the  Spanish-American  War.  The  prompt, 
efficient  methods  followed  in  the  relief  of  the 
flood  sufferers  along  the  Mississippi  in  1884 
may  serve  to  illustrate  the  sane,  constructive 
character  of  her  work. 

Supply  centers  were  established,  and  a 
steamer  chartered  to  ply  back  and  forth  carry- 
ing help  and  hope  to  the  distracted  human  crea- 
tures who  stood  "  wringing  their  hands  on  a 
frozen,  fireless  shore — with  every  coal-pit  filled 
with  water."  For  three  weeks  she  patrolled 
the  river,  distributing  food,  clothing,  and  fuel, 

84 


CLARA  BARTON 

caring  for  the  sick,  and,  in  order  to  establish 
at  once  normal  conditions  of  life,  providing  the 
people  with  many  thousands  of  dollars'  worth 
of  building  material,  seeds,  and  farm  imple- 
ments, thus  making  it  possible  for  them  to  help 
themselves  and  in  work  find  a  cure  for  their 
benumbing  distress. 

"Our  Lady  of  the  Red  Cross"  lived  past  her 
ninetieth  birthday,  but  her  real  life  is  measured 
by  deeds,  not  days.  It  was  truly  a  long  one, 
rich  in  the  joy  of  service.  She  abundantly 
proved  the  truth  of  the  words:  "We  gain  in 
so  far  as  we  give.  If  we  would  find  our  life, 
we  must  be  willing  to  lose  it." 


85 


A  MAIDEN  CRUSADER:    FRANCES 
E.  WILLARD 


Instead  of  peace,  I  was  to  participate  in  war;  instead 
of  the  sweetness  of  home,  I  was  to  become  a  wanderer  on 
the  face  of  thb  earth;  but  I  have  felt  that  a  great  promo- 
tion came  to  me  when  I  was  counted  worthy  to  be  a  worker 
in  the  organized  crusade  for  "God  and  Home  and  Na- 
tive Land."  ...  If  I  were  asked  the  mission  of  the  ideal 
woman,  I  would  say  it  is  to  make  the  whole  world  home- 
like. The  true  woman  will  make  every  place  she  enters 
homelike — and  she  will  enter  every  place  in  this  wide 
world. 

FRANCES  E.  WILLAED. 


A  MAIDEN  CRUSADER 

THERE  is  no  place  like  a  young  college 
town  in  a  young  country  for  untroubled 
optimism.  Hope  blossoms  there  as  nowhere 
else ;  the  ideal  ever  beckons  at  the  next  turn  in 
the  road.  When  Josiah  Willard  brought  his 
little  family  to  Oberlin,  it  seemed  to  them  all 
that  a  new  golden  age  of  opportunity  was  theirs. 
Even  Frances,  who  was  little  more  than  a  baby, 
drank  in  the  spirit  of  the  place  with  the  air  she 
breathed. 

It  was  not  hard  to  believe  in  a  golden  age 
when  one  happened  to  see  little  Frances,  or 
"Frank,"  Willard  dancing  like  a  sunbeam  about 
the  campus.  She  liked  to  play  about  the  big 
buildings,  where  father  went  every  day  with  his 
big  books,  and  watch  for  him  to  come  out. 
Sometimes  one  of  the  students  would  stop  to 
speak  to  her;  sometimes  a  group  would  gather 
about  while,  with  fair  hair  flying  and  small 

89 


arms  waving,  in  a  voice  incredibly  clear  and 
bird-like,  she  "said  a  piece"  that  mother  had 
taught  her. 

"Is  that  a  little  professorling?"  asked  a  new- 
comer one  day,  attracted 'by  the  child's  cherub 
face  and  darting,  fairylike  ways. 

"Guess  again!"  returned  a  dignified  senior. 
"Her  father  is  one  of  the  students.  Haven't 
you  noticed  that  fine-looking  Willard?  The 
mother,  top,  knows  how  to  appreciate  a  college, 
I  understand — used  to  be  a  teacher  back  in  New 
York  where  they  came  from." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  this  happy  little 
goldfinch  is  the  child  of  two  such  solemn  owls ! ' ' 
exclaimed  the  other. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  They  are  very  wide- 
awake, alive  sort  of  people,  I  assure  you, — the 
kind  who  'd  make  a  success  of  anything.  The 
father  wants  to  be  a  preacher,  they  say — wait, 
there  he  comes  now ! ' ' 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  Mr.  Willard  was 
an  alert,  capable  man  and  a  good  father.  The 
little  girl  ran  to  him  with  a  joyful  cry,  and  a 
sturdy  lad  who  had  been  trying  to  climb  a  tree 
bounded  forward  at  the  same  time. 

90 


FRANCES  E.  WILLARD 

"I  trust  that  my  small  fry  have  n't  been  mak- 
ing trouble, ' '  said  the  man,  giving  his  free  hand 
to  Frances  and  graciously  allowing  Oliver  to 
carry  two  of  his  armful  of  books. 

"Only  making  friends/'  the  senior  responded 
genially,  "and  one  can  see  that  they  can't  very 
well  help  that." 

The  Oberlin  years  were  a  happy,  friendly 
time  for  all  the  family.  While  both  father  and 
mother  were  working  hard  to  make  the  most  of 
their  long-delayed  opportunity  for  a  liberal  edu- 
cation, they  delighted  above  all  in  the  com- 
panionship of  neighbors  with  tastes  like  their 
own.  After  five  years,  however,  it  became 
clear  that  the  future  was  not  to  be  after  their 
planning.  Mr.  Willard's  health  failed,  and  a 
wise  doctor  said  that  he  must  leave  his  book- 
world,  and  take  up  a  free,  active  life  in  the  open. 
So  the  little  family  joined  the  army  of  west- 
ward-moving pioneers. 

Can  you  picture  the  three  prairie-schooners 
that  carried  them  and  all  their  goods  to  the  new 
home?  The  father  drove  the  first,  Oliver  gee- 
hawed  proudly  from  the  high  perch  of  the  next, 
and  mother  sat  in  the  third,  with  Frances  and 

91 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

little  sister  Mary  on  a  cushioned  throne  made 
out  of  father 's  topsyturvy  desk.  For  nearly 
thirty  days  the  little  caravan  made  its  way — 
now  through  forests,  now  across  great  sweep- 
ing prairies,  now  over  bumping  corduroy  roads 
that  crossed  stretches  of  swampy  ground. 
They  cooked  their  bacon  and  potatoes,  gypsy- 
fashion,  on  the  ground,  and  slept  under  the 
white  hoods  of  their  long  wagons,  when  they 
were  not  kept  awake  by  the  howling  of  wolves. 

When  Sunday  came,  they  rested  wherever  the 
day  found  them — sometimes  on  the  rolling 
prairie,  where  their  only  shelter  from  rain  and 
sun  was  the  homely  schooner,  but  where  at 
night  they  could  look  up  at  the  great  tent  of  the 
starry  heavens';  sometimes  in  the  cathedral  of 
the  forest,  where  they  found  Jack-in-the-pulpit 
preaching  to  the  other  wild-flowers  and  birds 
and  breezes  singing  an  anthem  of  praise. 

It  was  truly  a  new  world  through  which  they 
made  their  way — beginnings  all  about — the 
roughest,  crudest  sort  of  beginnings,  glorified 
by  the  brightest  hopes.  Tiny  cabins  were 
planted  on  the  edge  of  the  prairies ;  rough  huts 
of  logs  were  dropped  down  in  clearings  in  the 

92 


Phnlu  lit/  llrotni  Unit. 

Frances  E.  Willaril 


FRANCES  E.  WILLARD 

forest.  Everywhere  people  were  working  with 
an  energy  that  could  not  be  daunted — felling 
trees,  sowing,  harvesting,  building.  As  they 
passed  by  the  end  of  Lake  Michigan  they  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  small,  struggling  village  in  the 
midst  of  a  dark,  hopeless-looking  morass,  from 
which  they  turned  aside  on  seeing  the  warning 
sign  No  bottom  here.  That  little  settlement  in 
the  swamp  was  Chicago. 

Northward  they  journeyed  to  Wisconsin, 
where  on  the  bluffs  above  Rock  River,  not  far 
from  Janesville,  they  found  a  spot  with  fertile 
prairie  on  one  side  and  sheltering,  wooded  hills 
on  the  other.  It  seemed  as  if  the  place  fairly 
called  to  them:  "This  is  home.  You  are  my 
people.  My  fields  and  hills  and  river  have  been 
waiting  many  a  year  just  for  you!" 

Here  Mr.  Willard  planted  the  roof -tree,  using 
timber  that  his  own  ax  had  wrested  from  the 
forest.  Year  by  year  it  grew  with  their  life. 
"Forest  Home,"  as  they  lovingly  called  it,  was 
a  low,  rambling  dwelling,  covered  with  trailing 
vines  and  all  but  hidden  away  in  a  grove  of 
oaks  and  evergreens.  It  seemed  as  if  Nature 
had  taken  over  the  work  of  their  hands — house, 

95 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

barns,  fields,  and  orchards — and  made  them  h§r 
dearest  care.  Here  were  people  after  her  own 
heart,  people  who  went  out  eagerly  to  meet  and 
use  the  things  that  each  day  brought.  They 
found  real  zest  in  plowing  fields,  laying  fences, 
raising  cattle,  and  learning  the  ways  of  soil  and 
weather.  They  learned  how  to  keep  rats  and 
gophers  from  devouring  their  crops,  how  to 
bank  up  the^  house  as  a  protection  from  hurri- 
canes, and  how  to  fight  the  prairie  fires  with 
fire. 

Frank  Willard  grew  as  the  trees  grew,  quite 
naturally,  gathering  strength  from  the  life 
about  her.  She  had  her  share  in  the  daily 
tasks;  she  had,  too,  a  chance  for  free,  happy, 
good  times.  There  was  but  one  other  family  of 
children  near  enough  to  share  their  plays,  but 
the  fun  was  never  dependent  on  numbers  or 
novelty.  If  there  were  only  two  members  of 
the  " Rustic  Club"  present,  the  birds  and  chip- 
munks and  other  wood-creatures  supplied  every 
lack.  Sometimes  when  they  found  themselves 
longing  to  "pick  up  and  move  back  among 
folks,"  they  played  that  the  farm  was  a  city. 

'*  'My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is,'  "  quoted 
96 


FRANCES  E.  WILLARD 

Frank,  optimistically;  "and  I  think  if  we  all 
put  our  minds  to  it,  we  can  manage  to  people 
this  spot  on  the  map  very  sociably. " 

Their  city  had  a  model  government,  and  ideal 
regulations  for  community  health  and  enjoy- 
ment. It  had  also  an  enterprising  newspaper 
of  which  Frank  was  editor. 

Frank  was  the  leader  in  all  of  the  fun.  She 
was  the  commanding  general  in  that  famous 
"Indian  fight"  when,  with  Mary  and  Mother, 
she  held  the  fort  against  the  attack  of  two  dread- 
ful, makerbelieve  savages  and  a  dog.  It  was 
due  to  her  strategy  that  the  dog  was  brought 
over  to  their  side  by  an  enticing  sparerib  and 
the  day  won.  Frank,  too,  was  the  captain  of 
their  good  ship  Enterprise. 

"If  we  do  live  inland,  we  don't  have  to  think 
inland,  Mary,"  she  said.  "What  's  the  use  of 
sitting  here  in  Wisconsin  and  sighing  because 
we  Ve  never  seen  the  ocean.  Let  's  take  this 
hen-coop  and  go  a-sailing.  Who  knows  what 
magic  shores  we  '11  touch  beyond  our  Sea  of 
Fancy!" 

A  plank  was  put  across  the  pointed  top  of  the 
hen-coop,  and  the  children  stood  at  opposite 

97 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

ends  steering,  slowly  when  the  sea  was  calrS 
and  more  energetically  when  a  storm  was  brew- 
ing. The  hens  clucked  and  the  chickens  ran 
about  in  a  panic,  but  the  captain  calmly  charted 
the  waters  and  laid  down  rules  of  navigation. 

Perhaps,  though,  the  best  times  of  all  were 
those  that  Frank  spent  in  her  retreat  at  the  top 
of  a  black  oak  tree,  where  she  could  sit  weaving 
stories  of  bright  romance  to  her  heart 's  content. 
On  the  tree  she  nailed  a  sign  with  this  painted 
warning:  "The  Eagle's  Nest.  Beware!"  to 
secure  her  against  intruders.  Here  she  wrote 
a  wonderful  novel  of  adventure,  some  four  hun- 
dred pages  long. 

But  this  eagle  found  that  the  wings  of  her 
imagination  could  not  make  her  entirely  free 
and  happy.  She  had  to  return  from  the  heights 
and  the  high  adventures  of  her  favorite  heroes 
to  the  dull  routine  of  farm  life.  She  was  not 
even  allowed  to  ride,  as  Oliver  was. 

"Well,  if  I  can't  be  trusted  to  manage  a  horse, 
I  '11  see  what  can  be  done  with  a  cow  and  a 
saddle.  I  simply  must  ride  something,"  Frank 
declared,  with  a  determined  toss  of  her  head. 

It  took  not  only  determination,  but  also  grim 
98 


FRANCES  E.  WILLAED 

endurance  and  a  sense  of  fun  to  help  her  through 
this  novel  experiment,  which  certainly  had  in 
it  more  excitement  than  pleasure.  However, 
when  her  father  saw  her  ride  by  on  her  long- 
horned  steed,  he  said  with  a  laugh : 

"You  have  fairly  earned  a  better  mount, 
Frank.  And  I  suppose  there  is  really  no  more 
risk  of  your  breaking  your  neck  with  a  horse." 

That  night  Frank  wrote  in  her  journal : 

"Hurrah!  rejoice!  A  new  era  has  this  mo- 
ment been  ushered  in.  Eode  a  horse  through 
the  corn — the  acme  of  my  hopes  realized." 

In  the  saddle,  with  the  keen  breath  of  a  brisk 
morning  in  her  face,  she  felt  almost  free — al- 
most a  part  of  the  larger  life  for  which  she 
longed.  "I  think  I  'm  fonder  of  anything  out 
of  my  sphere  than  anything  in  it,"  she  said  to 
her  mother,  whose  understanding  and  sympathy 
never  failed  her. 

Perhaps  she  loved  especially  to  pore  over  a 
book  of  astronomy  and  try  to  puzzle  out  the 
starry  paths  on  the  vast  prairie  of  the  heavens, 
because  it  carried  her  up  and  away  from  her 
every-day  world.  Sometimes,  however,  she  was 
brought  back  to  earth  with  a  rude  bump. 

99 


''When  I  had  to  get  dinner  one  Sunday,  i" 
fairly  cried, "  she  said.    "To  come  back  to  fry- 
ing onions,  when  I  Ve  been  among  the  rings  of 
Saturn,  is  terrible." 

She  did  n't  at  all  know  what  it  was  for  which 
she  longed.  Only  she  knew  that  she  didn't 
want  to  grow  up — to  twist  up  her  free  curls 
with  spiky  hair-pins  and  to  wear  long  skirts 
which  seemed  to  make  it  plain  that  a  weary 
round  of  shut-in  tasks  was  all  her  lot  and  that 
the  happy  days  of  roaming  woods  and  fields 
were  over. 

Through  all  the  girlhood  days  at  "  Forest 
Home"  Frank  longed  for  the  chance  to  go  to 
a  real  school  as  much  as  she  longed  to  be  free. 
Oliver  went  to  the  Janesville  Academy,  and 
later  to  Beloit  College,  but  she  could  get  only 
fleeting  glimpses  of  his  more  satisfying  life 
through  the  books  he  brought  home  and  his 
talks  of  lectures  and  professors.  She  remem- 
bered those  far-off  days  at  Oberlin  as  a  golden 
time  indeed.  There  even  a  girl  might  have  the 
chance  to  learn  the  things  that  ^ould  set  her 
mind  and  soul  free. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  Frances  and  Mary 
100 


FRANCES  E.  WILLAED 

Willard  when  Mr.  Hodge,  a  Yale  man  who  was, 
like  her  father,  exiled  to  a  life  in  a  new  country, 
decided  to  open  a  school  for  the  children  of  the 
neighboring  farms.  On  the  never-to-be-forgot- 
ten first  day  the  girls  got  up  long  before  light, 
put  their  tin  pails  of  dinner  and  their  satchels 
of  books  with  their  coats,  hoods,  and  mufflers, 
and  then  stood  watching  the  clock,  whose  pro- 
vokingly  measured  ticks  seemed  entirely  indif- 
ferent to  the  eager  beating  of  their  hearts.  At 
last  the  hired  man  yoked  the  oxen  to  the  long 
" bob-sled,"  and  Oliver  drove  them  over  a  new 
white  road  to  the  new  school.  The  doors  were 
not  yet  open. 

"I  told  you  it  was  much  too  early,"  said 
Oliver.  "The  idea  of  being  so  crazy  over  the 
opening  of  a  little  two-by-four  school  like  this !" 

"It  does  look  like  a  sort  of  big  ground-nut," 
said  Frank,  with  a  laugh,  "but  it  's  ours  to 
crack.  Besides,  we  have  a  Yale  graduate  to 
teach  us,  and  Beloit  can't  beat  that!" 

"Let  's  go  over  to  Mr.  Hodge's  for  the  key, 
and  make  the  fire  for  him,"  suggested  Mary. 

There  was  an  unusually  long  entry  in  Frank's 
diary  that  night : 

101 


' 


HEROINES  OP  SERVICE 

At  lot  rinfiBM   Hodge 


aanafal  of: 

a  dnmer-bdl  in  Us  band.    He  stood  on  the 
steps  and  rang  toe  befl,  long,  load,  and  merrily.    My 

bend:  *At  last  ve  an  CMC  *°  school  aD  by  ourselves, 
May  and  I,  and  w  axe  going  to  hare  advantages  blot 
otber  folks,  jnt  as  Motber  sad  «e  sboold.''  O!  goody- 
goody-goody!  I  £ed  satisfied  viia  tte  nld,  myself,  and 

tbe  res;  :: 


This  oithnsiasm  for  sdiocd  and  study  did  not 
wane  as  tbe  days  went  ty.  "I  want  to  know 
everything— everything"  Frank  would  declare 
vehemently.  "It  is  only  \Rminmg  that  can  make 
one  free." 

The  time  came  when  she  was  to  go  away 
to  college.  Wistfully  she  went  about  saying 
good-by  to  all  the  pleasant  fannrfg  about  "For- 
est Home."  For  a  long  time  she  sat  on  her  old 
perch  in  the  "Eagle's  nest,"  looking  off  towards 
the  river  and  the  hOb. 

"I  think  that  as  I  know  more,  I  five  more," 
said  Frank  to  her  mother  that  night  "I  am 
alive  to  so  many  things  now  that  I  never  thought 
of  sic  TMot^'ff  ago;  and  everything  is  dearer — 
|i  more  a  part  of  myself." 

The  North-West  Female  College,  at  Evans- 


:  . 

The  statue  of 


Wfflud  im  the  Capitol  at 


• 


FRANCES  E.  WILLARD 

ton,  Illinois,  was  Frank's  alma  mater.  Here 
her  love  of  learning  made  her  a  leader  in  all 
her  classes;  and  her  originality,  daring,  and 
personal  charm  made  her  a  leader  in  the  social 
life  of  the  students.  She  was  editor  of  the  col- 
lege paper,  and  first  fun-maker  of  a  lively  clan 
whose  chief  delight  it  was  to  shock  some  of  their 
meek  classmates  out  of  their  unthinking 
" goody-goodness."  She  was  known,  for  in- 
stance, to  have  climbed  into  the  steeple  and  to 
have  remained  on  her  giddy  perch  during  an 
entire  recitation  period  in  the  higher  mathe- 
matics. 

In  her  days  of  teaching,  Frank  was  the  same 
alert,  free,  eager-minded,  fun-loving  girl.  First 
in  a  country  school  near  Chicago,  and  afterward 
in  a  seminary  in  Pittsburg,  she  was  a  successful 
teacher  because  she  never  ceased  to  be  a  learner. 

"  Frank,  you  have  the  hungriest  soul  I  ever 
saw  in  a  human  being.  It  will  never  be  satis- 
fied ! ' '  said  one  of  her  friends. 

"I  shall  never  be  satisfied  until  I  have  entered 
every  open  door,  and  I  shall  not  go  in  alone," 
said  Frank. 

In  all  of  her  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  cul- 
105 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

ture  she  was  intensely  social.  She  was  always 
learning  with  others  and  for  others.  A  bit 
from  her  diary  in  1866  reveals  the  spirit  in 
which  she  worked: 

I  read  a  good  deal  and  learn  ever  so  many  new  things 
every  day.  I  get  so  hungry  to  know  things.  I  '11  teach 
these  girls  as  well  as  possible.  .  .  .  Girls,  girls,  girls! 
Questions  upon  questions.  Dear  me,  it  is  no  small  under- 
taking to  be  elder  sister  to  the  whole  180  of  them.  They 
treat  me  beautifully,  and  I  think  I  reciprocate. 

"Miss  Willard  seems  to  see  us  not  as  we  are, 
but  as  we  hope  we  are  becoming,"  one  of  her 
girls  said.  "And  so  we  simply  have  to  do  what 
she  believes  we  can  do." 

No  one  was  a  stranger  or  indifferent  to  her. 
When  her  clear  blue  eyes  looked  into  the  eyes 
of  another,  they  always  saw  a  friend. 

Through  these  early  years  of  teaching 
Frances  Willard  was  learning  not  only  from 
constant  study  and  work  with  others,  but  also 
from  sorrow.  Her  sister  Mary  was  taken 
from  her.  The  story  of  what  her  gentle  life 
and  loving  comradeship  meant  to  Frank  is  told 
in  the  first  and  best  of  Miss  Willard 's  books, 
"Nineteen  Beautiful  Years,"  which  gives  many 
delightful  glimpses  of  their  childhood  on  the 

106 


FRANCES  E.  WILLAED 

"Wisconsin  farm  and  the  school-girl  years  to- 
gether. Soon  after  Mary's  death  " Forest 
Home"  was  sold  and  the  family  separated. 
Frank  wrote  in  her  journal  at  this  time : 

I  am  to  lose  sight  of  the  old  familiar  landmarks;  old 
things  are  passing  from  me,  whose  love  is  for  old  things. 
I  am  pushing  out  all  by  myself  into  the  wide,  wide  sea. 

The  writing  of  the  story  of  Mary's  life,  to- 
gether with  essays  and  articles  of  general  in- 
terest for  the  papers  and  magazines,  "took  the 
harm  out  of  life  for  a  while."  In  all  her  writ- 
ing, as  in  her  teaching  and  later  in  her  public 
speaking,  her  instinctive  faith  in  people  was  the 
secret  of  her  power  and  influence  as  a  leader. 

"For  myself,  I  liked  the  world,  believed  it 
friendly,  and  could  see  no  reason  why  I  might 
not  confide  in  it,"  she  said. 

When  another  sorrow,  the  loss  of  her  father, 
threatened  to  darken  her  life  for  a  time,  a  friend 
came  to  the  rescue  and  "opened  a  new  door" 
for  her — the  door  of  travel  and  study  abroad. 
They  lived  for  two  and  a  half  years  in  Europe, 
and  made  a  journey  to  Syria  and  Egypt.  Dur- 
ing much  of  this  time  Miss  Willard  spent  nine 
hours  a  day  in  study.  She  longed  to  make  her 

107 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

own  the  impressions  of  beauty  and  the  haunting 
charm  of  the  past. 

"I  must  really  enter  into  the  life  of  each 
place,"  she  said,  "if  it  is  only  for  a  few  weeks 
or  months.  I  want  to  feel  that  I  have  a  right 
to  the  landscape — that  I  'm  not  just  an  intruding 
tourist,  caring  only  for  random  sight-seeing.*' 

But  Miss  Willard  brought  back  much  more 
than  a  general  culture  gained  through  a  study 
of  art,  history,  and  literature,  and  a  contact 
with  civilization.  She  gained,  above  all,  a  vital 
interest  in  conditions  of  life,  particularly  those 
that  concern  women  and  their  opportunities  for 
education,  self-expression,  and  service.  The 
Frances  E.  Willard  that  the  world  knows,  the 
organizer  and  leader  in  social  reform,  was  born 
at  this  time.  On  her  thirtieth  birthday  she 
wrote : 

I  can  do  so  much  more  when  I  go  home.  I  shall  have  a 
hold  on  life,  and  a  fitness  for  it  so  much  more  assured. 
Perhaps — who  knows? — there  may  be  noble,  wide-reaching 
work  for  me  in  the  years  ahead. 

It  seemed  to  Miss  "Willard,  when  she  returned 
to  her  own  country,  that  there  was,  after  all,  no 
land  like  America,  and  no  spot  anywhere  so 

108 


FRANCES  E.  WILLAED 

truly  satisfying  as  Best  Cottage  in  Evanston, 
where  her  mother  awaited  her  home-coming.  A 
signal  honor  awaited  her  as  well.  She  was 
called  to  he  president  of  her  alma  mater;  and 
when  the  college  became  a  part  of  the  North- 
Western  [University,  she  remained  as  Dean  of 
Women. 

At  this  time  many  towns  and  cities  of  the 
Middle  West  were  the  scene  of  a  strange,  pa- 
thetic, and  heart-stirring  movement  known  as 
the  Temperance  Crusade.  Gentle,  home-loving 
women,  white-haired  mothers  bent  with  toil  and 
grief,  marched  through  the  streets,  singing 
hymns,  praying,  and  making  direct  appeals  to 
keepers  of  saloons  "for  the  sake  of  humanity 
and  their  own  souls'  sake  to  quit  their  soul- 
destroying  business. "  Their  very  weakness 
was  their  strength.  Their  simple  faith  and  the 
things  they  had  suffered  through  the  drink  evil 
pleaded  for  them.  A  great  religious  revival 
was  under  way. 

In  Chicago  a  band  of  women  who  were  march- 
ing to  the  City  Council  to  ask  that  the  law  for 
Sunday  closing  of  saloons  be  enforced  were 
rudely  jostled  and  insulted  by  a  mob.  Miss 

109 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

Willard,  who  had  before  been  deeply  stirred  by 
the  movement,  was  now  thoroughly  aroused. 
She  made  several  eloquent  speeches  in  behalf 
of  the  cause,  which  was,  she  said,  "everybody's 
war."  Her  first  instinct  was  to  leave  her  col- 
lege and  give  her  all  to  the  work.  Then  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  ought  to  help  just  where 
she  was — that  everybody  ought.  So,  just  where 
she  was,  the  young  dean  devoted  her  power  of 
eloquent  speech  and  her  influence  with  people  to 
the  cause.  Day  by  day  her  interest  in  reform 
became  more  absorbing.  She  realized  that  the 
early  fervor  and  enthusiasm  of  the  movement 
needed  to  be  strengthened  by  "  sober  second 
thought"  and  sound  organization. 

"If  I  only  had  more  time — if  I  were  more 
free!"  she  exclaimed. 

Then  the  turn  of  events  did  indeed  free  her 
from  her  responsibility  to  her  college.  A 
change  of  policy  so  altered  the  conditions  of 
her  work  that  she  decided  to  resign  her  charge 
and  go  east  to  study  the  temperance  movement. 
The  time  came  when  she  had  to  make  a  final 
choice.  Two  letters  reached  her  on  the  same 
day:  One  asked  her  to  assume  the  principal- 

110 


FRANCES  E.  WILLARD 

ship  of  an  important  school  in  New  York  at  a 
large  salary;  the  other  begged  her  to  take 
charge  of  the  Chicago  branch  of  the  Woman's 
Christian  Temperance  Union  at  no  salary  at 
all.  The  girl  who  had  worshiped  culture  and 
lived  in  books  decided  to  accept  the  second  call ; 
and  turning  her  back  on  a  brilliant  career  and 
worldly  success,  she  threw  in  her  lot  with  the 
most  unpopular  reform  of  the  day.  Frances 
Willard,  the  distinguished  teacher,  writer,  and 
lecturer,  became  a  crusader. 

"How  can  you  think  it  right  to  give  up  your 
interest  in  literature  and  artl"  wailed  one  of 
her  friends  and  admirers. 

"What  greater  art  than  to  try  to  restore  the 
image  of  God  to  faces  that  have  lost  it?"  re- 
plied Miss  Willard. 

Those  early  days  in  Chicago  were  a  brave, 
splendid  time.  Often  walking  miles,  because 
she  had  no  money  for  car-fare,  the  inspired  cru- 
sader "followed  the  gleam "  of  her  vision  of 
what  this  woman's  movement  might  accomplish. 
Where  others  saw  only  an  uncertain  group  of 
overwrought  fanatics,  she  saw  an  organized 
army  of  earnest  workers  possessed  of  that 

111 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

"  loftiest  chivalry  which  comes  as  a  sequel  of 
their  service  to  the  weakest.'' 

"I  seemed  to  see  the  end  from  the  begin- 
ning," she  said;  "and  when  one  has  done  that, 
nothing  can  discourage  or  daunt." 

Miss  Willard  often  said  that  she  was  never 
happier  than  during  this  time,  when  her  spirit 
was  entirely  free,  because  she  neither  longed 
for  what  the^  world  could  give  nor  feared  what 
it  might  take  away.  She  felt  very  near  to  the 
poor  people  among  whom  she  worked. 

"I  am  a  better  friend  than  you  dream,"  she 
would  say  in  her  heart,  while  her  eyes  spoke  her 
sympathy  and  understanding.  "I  know  more 
about  you  than  you  think,  for  I  am  hungry, 
too." 

Of  course,  in  time,  the  women  discovered  that 
their  valued  leader  did  not  have  an  independent 
income  as  they  had  imagined  (since  she  had 
never  seemed  to  give  a  thought  to  ways  and 
means  for  herself),  and  a  sufficient  salary  was 
provided  for  her.  But  always  she  spent  her 
income  as  she  spent  herself — to  the  utmost  for 
the  work. 

The  secret  of  Miss  Willard  'a  success  as  a 
112 


FRANCES  E.  WILLAED 

speaker  lay  in  this  entire  giving  of  herself. 
The  intensity  of  life,  the  irrepressible  humor, 
the  never-failing  sympathy,  the  spirit  that  hun- 
gered after  all  that  was  beautiful  shone  in  her 
clear  eyes,  and,  in  the  pure,  vibrant  tones  of 
her  wonderful  voice,  went  straight  to  the  hearts 
of  all  who  listened.  She  did  not  enter  into  her 
life  as  a  crusader  halt  and  maimed;  all  of  the 
woman's  varied  interests  and  capacities  were 
felt  in  the  work  of  the  reformer. 

'  l  She  is  a  great  orator  because  in  her  words 
the  clear  seeing  of  a  perfectly  poised  mind  and 
the  warm  feeling  of  an  intensely  sympathetic 
heart  are  wonderfully  blended,"  said  Henry 
Ward  Beecher. 

Miss  Willard  was  not  only  a  gifted  speaker, 
whose  pure,  flame-like  spirit  enkindled  faith  and 
enthusiasm  in  others;  she  was  also  a  rare  or- 
ganizer and  indefatigable  worker.  As  presi- 
dent of  the  National  Union,  she  visited  nearly 
every  city  and  town  in  the  United  States,  and, 
during  a  dozen  years,  averaged  one  meeting  a 
day.  The  hours  spent  on  trains  were  devoted 
to  making  plans  and  preparing  addresses.  On 
a  trip  up  the  Hudson,  while  everybody  was  on 

113 


HEROINES  OP  SERVICE 

deck  enjoying  the  scenery,  Miss  Willard  re- 
mained in  the  cabin  busy  with  pad  and  pencil. 

"I  know  myself  too  well  to  venture  out,"  she 
said  to  a  friend  who  remonstrated  with  her. 
"There  is  work  that  must  be  done." 

Under  Miss  Willard 's  leadership  the  work 
became  a  power  in  the  life  and  progress  of  the 
nation  and  of  humanity.  There  were  those 
who  objecte^  to  the  very  breadth  and  inclusive- 
ness  of  her  sympathies  and  interests,  and  who 
protested  against  the  "scatteration"  policies, 
that  would,  they  said,  lead  to  no  definite  goal. 

"I  cannot  see  why  any  society  should  impose 
limitations  on  any  good  work,"  said  this  broad- 
minded  leader.  "Everything  is  not  in  the  tem- 
perance movement,  but  the  temperance  move- 
ment should  be  in  everything." 

In  1898  the  loyal  crusader  was  called  to  lay 
down  her  arms  and  leave  the  battle  to  others. 
She  had  given  so  unstintedly  to  every  good 
work  all  that  she  was,  that  at  fifty-eight  her 
powers  of  endurance  were  spent.  "I  am  so 
tired — so  tired,"  she  said  again  and  again;  and 
at  the  last,  with  a  serene  smile,  "How  beautiful 
it  is  to  be  with  God!" 

114 


FRANCES  E.  WILLAED 

In  the  great  hall  of  the  Capitol,  where  each 
State  has  been  permitted  to  place  statues  of  two 
of  its  most  cherished  leaders,  Illinois  has  put 
the  marble  figure  of  Frances  E.  Willard,  the 
only  woman  in  a  company  of  soldiers  and  states- 
men. In  presenting  the  statue  to  the  nation, 
Mr.  Foss,  who  represented  Miss  Willard 's  own 
district  in  Illinois,  closed  his  address  with  these 
words : 

Frances  E.  Willard  once  said:  "If  I  were  asked  -what 
was  the  true  mission  of  the  ideal  woman,  I  would  say,  'It 
is  to  make  the  whole  world  home-like.' "  Illinois,  there- 
fore, presents  this  statue  not  only  as  a  tribute  to  her  whom 
it  represents, — one  of  the  foremost  women  of  America, — 
but  as  a  tribute  to  woman  and  her  mighty  influence  upon 
our  national  life;  to  woman  in  the  home;  to  woman  wher- 
ever she  is  toiling  for  the  good  of  humanity;  to  woman 
everywhere  who  has  ever  stood  "For  God,  for  home,  for 
native  land." 


115 


JULIA  WAED  HOWE:    THE  SINGER 
OF  A  NATION'S  SONG 


We  have  told  the  story  of  our  mother's  life,  possibly  at 
too  great  length;  but  she  herself  told  it  in  eight  words. 

"Tell  me,"  Maud  asked  her  once,  "what  is  the  ideal  aim 
of  life!" 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  replied,  dwelling  thought- 
fully on  each  word: 

"To  learn,  to  teach,  to  serve,  to  enjoy!" 

Life  of  Julia  Ward  Howe. 


THE  SINGER  OF  A  NATION'S  SONG 

TWO  little  girls  were  rolling  hoops  along 
the  street  when  they  suddenly  caught 
them  over  their  little  bare  arms  and  drew  up 
close  to  the  railings  of  a  house  on  the  corner. 

"  There  is  the  wonderful  coach  and  the  little 
girl  I  told  you  about,  Eliza,"  whispered  Mari- 
etta, pushing  back  the  straw  bonnet  that  shaded 
her  face  from  the  sun  and  pointing  with  her 
stick. 

It  was  truly  a  magnificent  yellow  coach,  pulled 
by  two  proud  gray  horses.  Even  Cinderella's 
golden  equipage  could  not  have  been  more  splen- 
did. Moreover,  the  little  girl  who  sat  perched 
upon  the  bright-blue  cushioned  seat  wore  an 
elegant  blue  pelisse,  that  just  matched  the  heav- 
enly color  of  the  lining,  and  a  yellow-satin  bon- 
net that  was  clearly  inspired  by  the  straw-col- 
ored outer  shell  of  the  chariot  itself.  The  fair 
chubby  face  under  the  satin  halo  was  turned 

119 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

toward  the  children,  and  a  pair  of  clear  gray 
eyes  regarded  them  with  eager  interest. 

"She  looked  as  if  she  wanted  to  speak!"  said 
Marietta,  breathlessly.  "Oh,  Eliza,  did  you 
ever  see  any  one  so  beautiful?  Just  like  a  doll 
or  a  fairy-tale  princess!" 

"Huh!"  cried  Eliza,  the  scornful;  "didn't 
you  see  that  she  has  red  hair  ?  Who  ever  heard 
of  a  doll  or  a  princess  with  red  hair?" 

"Maybe  a  witch  or  a  bad  fairy  turned  her 
spun-gold  locks  red  for  spite,"  suggested  Mari- 
etta. "Anyway,  I  wouldn't  mind  red  hair  if 
I  was  in  her  place — so  rich  and  all.  Would  n't 
it  be  grand  to  ride  in  a  fine  coach  and  have 
everything  you  want  even  before  you  stop  to 
wish  for  it?" 

How  astonished  Marietta  would  have  been  if 
she  could  have  known  that  the  little  lady  in  the 
chariot  was  wishing  that  she  were  a  little  girl 
with  a  hoop!  For  even  when  she  was  very 
small  Julia  Ward  had  other  trials  besides  the 
red  hair.  Nowadays,  people  realize  that  red- 
gold  hair  is  a  true  "crowning  glory,"  but  it 
wasn't  the  style  to  like  it  in  1825,  at  the  time 
this  story  begins.  So  little  Julia 's  mother  tried 

120 


JULIA  WAED  HOWE 

her  best  to  tone  down  the  bright  color  with 
sobering  washes  and  leaden  combs.  One  day, 
however,  the  child  heard  a  visitor  say,  "Your 
little  girl  is  very  beautiful;  her  hair  is  pretty, 
too,  with  that  lovely  complexion. '  * 

Eagerly  Julia  climbed  upon  a  chair  and  then 
on  the  high,  old-fashioned  dressing-table,  so  that 
she  could  gaze  in  the  mirror  to  her  heart's  con- 
tent. "Is  that  all?"  she  cried  after  a  moment, 
and  scrambled  down,  greatly  disappointed. 

Eliza  and  Marietta  would  have  been  truly 
amazed  if  they  had  known  that  the  little  queen 
of  the  splendid  coach  had  very  little  chance  for 
the  good  times  that  a  child  loves.  In  these  days 
I  really  believe  that  people  would  pity  her  and 
say,  "Poor  little  rich  girl!"  She  was  brought 
up  with  the  greatest  strictness.  There  were 
many  lessons, — French,  Latin,  music,  and  danc- 
ing,— for  she  must  have  an  education  that  would 
fit  her  to  shine  in  her  high  station.  When  she 
went  out  for  an  airing,  it  was  always  in  the  big 
coach,  "like  a  little  lady."  There  was  never 
a  chance  for  a  hop-skip-and-jump  play-hour. 
Her  delicate  cambric  dresses  and  kid  slippers 
were  only  suited  to  sedate  indoor  ways,  and 

121 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

even  when  she  was  taken  to  the  sea-shore  for  a 
holiday,  her  face  was  covered  with  a  thick  green 
veil  to  keep  her  fair  skin  from  all  spot  and 
blemish.  Dignity  and  Duty  were  the  guardian 
geniuses  of  Julia  Ward's  childhood. 

Her  father,  Samuel  Ward,  was  a  rich  New 
York  banker,  with  a  fine  American  sense  of 
noblesse  oblige.  He  believed  that  a  man's 
wealth  and  influence  spell  strict  accountability 
to  his  country  and  to  God,  and  Tie  lived  accord- 
ing to  that  belief.  He  believed  that  as  a  banker 
his  most  vital  concern  was  not  to  make  himself 
richer  and  richer,  but  to  manage  money  mat- 
ters in  such  a  way  as  to  serve  his  city  and  the 
nation  as  a  whole.  In  those  times  of  financial 
stress  which  came  to  America  in  the  early  part 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  his  heroic  efforts 
more  than  once  enabled  his  bank  to  weather  a 
financial  storm  and  uphold  the  credit  of  the 
State.  On  one  occasion  his  loyalty  and  un- 
flagging zeal  secured  a  loan  of  five  million  dol- 
lars from  the  Bank  of  England  in  the  nick  of 
time  to  avert  disaster. 

"Julia,"  cried  her  brother,  who  had  just 
122 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

come  in  from  Wall  Street,  "men  have  been  go- 
ing up  and  down  the  office  stairs  all  day  long, 
carrying  little  wooden  kegs  of  gold  on  their 
backs,  marked  'Prime,  Ward  &  King'  and  filled 
with  English  gold!" 

Mr.  Ward,  however,  did  not  see  the  tri- 
umphal procession  of  the  kegs;  he  was  pros- 
trated by  a  severe  illness,  due,  it  was  said,  to 
his  too  exacting  labors.  Years  afterward,  Mr. 
Ward's  daughter  said  that  her  best  inheritance 
from  the  old  firm  was  the  fact  that  her  father 
had  procured  this  loan  which  saved  the  honor 
of  the  Empire  State. 

"From  the  time  I  was  a  tiny  child,"  said 
Julia  Ward,  "I  had  heard  stories  of  my  an- 
cestors— colonial  governors  and  officers  in  the 
Revolution,  among  whom  were  numbered  Gen- 
eral Nathanael  Greene  and  General  Marion,  the 
'Swamp  Fox'  whose  'fortress  was  the  good 
green  wood,'  whose  'tent  the  cypress-tree.' 
When  I  thought  of  the  brave  and  honorable  men 
and  the  fair  and  prudent  wives  and  daughters 
of  the  line,  they  seemed  to  pass  before  my  un- 
worthy self  'terrible  as  an  army  with  banners' 

123 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

• — but  there  was,  too,  the  trumpet-call  of  in- 
spiration in  the  thought  that  they  were  truly 
mine  own  people." 

If  a  sense  of  duty  and  the  trumpet-call  of  her 
forebears  urged  little  Julia  on  to  application  in 
her  early  years,  she  soon  learned  to  love  study 
for  its  own  sake.  When,  at  nine  years  of  age, 
she  began  to  attend  school,  she  listened  to  such 
purpose  to  the  recitations  of  a  class  in  Italian 
that  she  presently  handed  to  the  astonished 
principal  a  letter  correctly  wTitten  in  that  lan- 
guage, begging  to  be  admitted  to  the  study  of 
the  tongue  whose  soft  musical  vowels  had 
charmed  her  ear.  She  had  not  only  aptitude, 
but  genuine  fondness,  for  languages,  and  early 
tried  various  experiments  in  the  use  of  her  own. 
When  a  child  of  ten  she  began  to  write  verse, 
and  thereafter  the  expression  of  her  thoughts 
and  feelings  in  poetic  form  was  as  natural  as 
breathing. 

If  you  could  have  seen  some  of  the  solemn 
verses  entitled,  "All  things  shall  pass."  and, 
"We  return  no  more,"  written  by  the  child  not 
yet  in  her  teens,  you  might  have  said,  "What 
an  extraordinary  little  girl!  Has  she  always 

124 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

been  ill,  or  has  she  never  had  a  chance  for  a 
good  time?" 

It  was  certainly  true  that  life  seemed  a  very 
serious  thing  to  the  child.  Her  eyes  were  con- 
tinually turned  inward,  for  they  had  not 
been  taught  to  discover  and  enjoy  the  things  of 
interest  and  delight  in  the  real  world.  New 
York  was  in  that  interesting  stage  of  its  growth 
that  followed  upon  the  opening  of  the  Erie 
Canal.  Not  yet  a  city  of  foreigners, — the  melt- 
ing-pot of  all  nations, — the  commercial  oppor- 
tunities which  better  communication  with  the 
Great  Lakes  section  gave  caused  unparalleled 
prosperity.  In  1835  the  metropolis  had  a  popu- 
lation of  200,000;  but  Broadway  was  still  in 
large  part  a  street  of  dignified  brick  residences 
with  bright  green  blinds  and  brass  knockers, 
along  which  little  girls  could  roll  their  hoops. 
Canal  Street  was  a  popular  boulevard,  with  a 
canal  bordered  by  trees  running  through  the 
center  and  a  driveway  on  either  side;  and  the 
district  neighboring  on  the  Battery  and  Castle 
Garden  was  still  a  place  of  wealth  and  fashion. 
,  It  is  to  be  doubted,  however,  if  Julia  Ward 
ever  saw  anything  on  her  drives  to  call  her  out 

125 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

of  her  day-dreaming  self.  Nor  had  she  eyes 
for  the  marvels  of  nature.  The  larkspurs  and 
laburnums  in  the  garden  had  no  language  that 
she  could  understand.  "I  grew  up,"  she  said, 
"with  the  city  measure  of  the  universe — my  own 
house,  somebody  else's,  the  trees  in  the  park, 
a  strip  of  blue  sky  overhead,  and  a  great  deal 
about  nature  read  from  the  best  authors,  most 
of  which  meant  nothing  at  all.  Years  later  I 
learned  to  enjoy  the  drowsy  murmur  of  green 
fields  in  midsummer,  the  song  of  birds  and  the 
ways  of  shy  wood-flowers,  when  my  own  chil- 
dren opened  the  door  into  that  'mighty  world 
of  eye  and  ear.'  " 

"When  Julia  was  sixteen,  the  return  of  her 
brother  from  Germany  opened  a  new  door  of 
existence  to  her.  She  had  just  left  school  and 
had  begun  to  study  in  real  earnest.  So  serious 
was  she  in  her  devotion  to  her  self-imposed 
tasks  that  she  sometimes  bade  a  maid  tie  her 
in  a  chair  for  a  certain  period.  Thus,  in  bonds, 
with  a  mind  set  free  from  all  temptation  to 
roam,  she  wrestled  with  the  difficulties  of  Ger- 
man grammar  and  came  off  victorious.  But 
Brother  Sam  led  her  to  an  appreciation  of  some- 

126 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

thing  besides  the  poetry  of  Schiller  and  Goethe. 
He  had  a  keen  and  wholesome  enjoyment  of 
the  world  of  people,  and  in  the  end  succeeded 
in  giving  his  young  sister  a  taste  of  natural 
youthful  gaiety. 

' '  Sir, ' '  said  Samuel,  Junior,  to  his  father  one 
evening,  ''you  do  not  keep  in  view  the  impor- 
tance of  the  social  tie." 

"The  social  what?"  asked  the  amazed  Puri- 
tan. 

"The  social  tie,  sir." 

"I  make  small  account  of  that,"  rejoined  the 
father,  coldly. 

"I  will  die  in  defense  of  it!"  retorted  the 
son,  hotly. 

The  young  man  found,  however,  that,  it  was 
more  agreeable  to  live  for  the  social  tie  than  to 
die  for  it.  And  Julia,  beginning  to  long  for 
something  besides  family  evenings  with  books 
and  music  varied  by  an  occasional  lecture  or  a 
visit  to  the  house  of  an  uncle,  seemed  to  herself 
"like  a  young  damsel  of  olden  times,  shut  up 
within  an  enchanted  castle."  When  she  was 
nineteen  she  decided  upon  a  declaration  of  in- 
dependence. If  she  could  only  muster  the  cour- 

127 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

age  to  meet  her  affectionate  jailer  face  to  face, 
she  thought  that  the  bars  of  his  prejudice 
against  fashionable  society  must  surely  fall. 

"I  am  going  to  give  a  party — a  party  of  my 
very  own,"  she  announced  to  her  brothers; 
"and  you  must  help  me  with  the  list  of  guests. " 

Having  obtained  her  father >s  permission  to 
invite  a  few  friends  "to  spend  the  evening,'* 
she  set  about  her  preparations.  This  first 
party  of  her  young  life  should,  she  resolved,  be 
correct  in  every  detail.  The  best  caterer  in 
New  York  was  engaged,  and  a  popular  group  of 
musicians.  She  even  introduced  a  splendid  cut- 
glass  chandelier  to  supplement  the  conservative 
lighting  of  the  drawing-room.  "My  first  party 
must  be  a  brilliant  success,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile  and  a  determined  tilt  of  her  chin. 

A  brilliant  company  was  gathered  to  do  the 
debutante  honor  on  the  occasion  of  her  auda- 
cious entrance  into  society.  Mr.  Ward  showed 
no  surprise,  however,  when  he  descended  the 
stairs  and  appeared  upon  the  festive  scene. 
He  greeted  the  guests  courteously  and  watched 
the  dancing  without  apparent  displeasure. 
Julia,  herself,  betrayed  no  more  excitement 

128 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

than  seemed  natural  to  the  acknowledged  belle 
of  the  evening,  but  her  heart  was  beating  in  a 
fashion  not  quite  in  tune  with  the  music  of  the 
fiddles.  When  the  last  guest  had  departed  she 
went,  according  to  custom,  to  bid  her  father 
good  night.  And  now  came  the  greatest  sur- 
prise of  all!  Mr.  Ward  took  the  young  girl's 
hand  in  his.  "My  daughter,"  he  said  with 
tender  gravity,  "I  was  surprised  to  see  that 
your  idea  of  'a  few  friends'  differed  widely 
from  mine.  After  this  you  need  not  hesitate  to 
consult  me  freely  and  frankly  about  what  you 
want  to  do. ' '  Then,  kissing  her  good  night  with 
his  usual  affection,  he  dismissed  the  subject  for- 
ever. 

Julia's  brief  skirmish  for  independence 
proved  not  a  rebellion,  but  a  revolution.  Her 
brother's  marriage  to  Miss  Emily  Astor  intro- 
duced an  era  of  gaiety  at  this  time;  and  when 
the  young  girl  had  once  fairly  taken  her  place 
in  society,  there  was  no  such  thing  as  going 
back  to  the  old  life.  "  Jolie  Julie,"  as  she  was 
lovingly  called  in  the  home-circle,  became  a 
reigning  favorite.  Even  rumors  of  her  amaz- 
ing blue-stocking  tendencies  could  not  spoil  her 

129 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

success.  It  was  whispered  that  she  was  given 
to  quoting  German  philosophy  and  French 
poetry.  "I  believe  she  dreams  in  Italian," 
vowed  one  greatly  awed  damsel. 

However  that  might  be,  "Jolie  Julie"  cer- 
tainly had  a  place  in  the  dreams  of  many.  Her 
beauty  and  charm  won  all  hearts.  The  bright 
hair  was  now  an  acknowledged  glory  above  the 
apple-blosson^  fairness  of  her  youthful  bloom. 
But  it  was  not  alone  the  loveliness  of  the  deli- 
cately molded  features  and  the  tender  bright- 
ness of  the  clear  gray  eyes  that  made  her  a  suc- 
cess. Notwithstanding  the  early  neglect  of 
"the  social  tie,"  it  was  soon  plain  that  she  had 
the  unfailing  tact,  the  ready  wit,  and  native 
good  humor  that  are  the  chief  assets  of  the 
social  leader  who  is  "born  to  the  purple."  Be- 
sides, Miss  Ward's  unusual  acquirements  could 
be  turned  so  as  to  masquerade,  in  their  rosy 
linings,  as  accomplishments.  Her  musical  gifts 
were  not  reserved  for  hours  of  solitary  musing, 
but  were  freely  devoted  to  the  pleasure  of  her 
friends ;  and  even  the  lofty  poetic  Muse  could  on 
occasion  indulge  in  a  comic  gambol  to  the  great 
delight  of  her  intimates. 

130 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

Miss  Ward  soon  tried  her  wings  in  other 
spheres  beyond  New  York.  She  found  a  ready 
welcome  in  Boston's  select  inner  circle,  where 
she  made  the  acquaintance  of  Longfellow, 
Emerson,  Whittier,  Holmes,  and  other  leading 
figures  in  the  literary  world.  Charles  Sumner, 
the  brilliant  statesman  and  reformer,  was  an 
intimate  friend  of  her  brother,  and  through 
him  she  met  Dr.  Samuel  Gridley  Howe,  who 
not  long  after  became  her  husband. 

From  both  Longfellow  and  Sumner  Miss 
Ward  had  heard  glowing  accounts  of  their 
friend  Howe,  who  was,  they  declared,  the  truest 
hero  that  America  and  the  nineteenth  century 
had  produced  and  the  best  of  good  comrades. 
He  had  earned  the  name  of  "Chevalier"  among 
his  friends  because  he  was  "a  true  Bayard, 
without  fear  and  without  reproach,"  and  be- 
cause he  had,  moreover,  been  made  a  Knight  of 
St.  George  by  the  King  of  Greece  for  distin- 
guished services  during  the  Greek  war  for 
independence.  For  six  years  he  had  fought 
with  the  patriots,  both  in  the  field  and  as 
surgeon-in-chief.  While  in  hiding  with  his 
wounded  among  the  bare  rocks  of  the  heights, 

131 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

he  had  sometimes  nothing  to  eat  but  roasted 
wasps  and  mountain  snails.  When  the  people 
were  without  food,  he  had  returned  to  America, 
related  far  and  wide  the  story  of  Greece 's  strug- 
gles and  dire  need,  and  brought  back  a  ship- 
load of  food  and  clothing.  Having  relieved  the 
distress  of  the  people,  he  had  helped  them  to 
get  in  touch  with  normal  existence  once  more 
by  putting  them  to  work.  A  hospital  was 
built,  and  a  mole  to  enclose  the  harbor  at 
iZEgina.  Then,  after  seeing  the  hitherto  dis- 
tracted peasants  begin  a  new  life  as  self-re- 
specting farmers,  he  had  returned  to  Amer- 
ica. 

At  this  time  he  was  doing  pioneer  work  in  the 
education  of  the  blind.  As  director  of  the 
Perkins  Institution,  in  Boston,  he  was  not  only 
laboring  to  make  more  efficient  this  first  school 
for  the  blind  in  America,  but  he  was  also  going 
about  through  the  country  with  his  pupils  to 
show  something  of  what  might  be  done  in  the 
way  of  practical  training,  in  order  to  induce  the 
legislatures  of  the  several  States  to  provide 
similar  institutions  for  those  deprived  of  sight. 
In  particular,  Dr.  Howe's  success  in  teaching 

132 


Julia  War.l  Ho\v< 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

L'aura  Bridgman,  a  blind  deaf-mute,  was  the 
marvel  of  the  civilized  world. 

One  day,  when  Longfellow  and  Sumner  were 
calling  upon  Miss  Ward,  they  suggested  driv- 
ing over  to  the  Perkins  Institution.  When  they 
arrived  the  hero  of  the  hour — and  the  place — 
was  absent.  Before  they  left,  however,  Mr. 
Sumner,  who  had  been  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow, suddenly  exclaimed,  "There  is  Howe  now 
on  his  black  horse!"  Miss  Ward  looked  with 
considerable  eagerness  in  her  curiosity,  and 
saw,  as  she  afterward  said,  "a  noble  rider  on 
a  noble  steed. " 

In  this  way  the  Chevalier  rode  into  the  life 
of  the  fair  lady.  As  the  knight  of  the  ballad 
swung  the  maiden  of  his  choice  to  the  croup 
of  his  charger  and  galloped  off  with  her  in  the 
face  of  her  helpless  kinsmen,  so  this  serious 
philanthropist  and  reformer  carried  off  the 
lovely  society  favorite,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  cared  not  at  all  for  her  gay,  care-free  world, 
and  was,  moreover,  twenty  years  her  senior. 
The  following  portion  of  a  letter  which  Miss 
Ward  wrote  to  her  brother  Sam  shows  how 
completely  she  was  won: 

135 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

The  Chevalier  says  truly — I  am  the  captive  of  his  bow 
and  spear.  His  true  devotion  has  won  me  from  the  world 
and  from  myself.  The  past  is  already  fading  from  my 
sight;  already  I  begin  to  live  with  him  in  the  future,  which 
shall  be  as  calmly  bright  as  true  love  can  make  it.  I  am 
perfectly  satisfied  to  sacrifice  to  one  so  noble  and  earnest 
the  day-dreams  of  my  youth. 

Dr.  Howe  and  his  bride  went  to  Europe  on 
their  wedding-trip — on  the  same  steamer  with 
Horace  Mann  and  his  newly  made  wife,  Mary 
Peabody,  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Nathaniel  Haw- 
thorne. The  teacher  of  Laura  Bridgman  was 
well  known  in  England  through  Dickens 's 
"American  Notes,"  aricl  people  were  anxious  to 
do  him  honor.  Dickens  not  only  invited  the 
interesting  Americans  to  dinner,  but  he  offered 
to  pilot  Dr.  Howe  and  his  brother  reformer, 
Horace  Mann,  about  darkest  London  and  show 
them  the  haunts  of  misery  and  crime  which  no 
one  knew  better  than  the  author  of  "Oliver 
Twist,"  "Little  Dorrit,"  and  "Bleak  House." 
The  following  note,  written  in  Dickens 's  charac- 
teristic hand,  shows  the  zest  with  which  the 
great  novelist  undertook  these  expeditions  and 
his  boyish  love  of  fun : 

My  dear  Howe, — Drive  to-night  to  St.  Giles's  Church. 
Be  there  at  half  past  11 — and  wait.  Somebody  will  put 

136 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

his  head  into  the  coach  after  a  Venetian  and  mysterious 
fashion,  and  breathe  your  name.  Follow  that  man.  Trust 
him  to  the  death. 

So  no  more  at  present  from 
Ninth  June,  1843.  THE  MASK. 

It  had  been  the  plan  to  go  from  England  to 
Berlin;  but  Dr.  Howe,  who  had  once  incurred 
the  displeasure  of  the  king  of  Prussia  by  giving 
aid  to  certain  Polish  refugees,  and  had,  indeed, 
been  held  for  five  weeks  in  a  German  prison, 
was  now  excluded  from  the  country  as  a 
"dangerous  person."  This  greatly  amused 
Horace  Mann,  who  remarked,  "When  we  con- 
sider that  His  Majesty  has  200,000  men  con- 
stantly under  arms,  and  can  in  need  increase 
the  number  to  two  million,  we  begin  to  appre- 
ciate the  estimation  in  which  he  holds  your 
single  self. ' '  When,  some  years  later,  the  king 
sent  Dr.  Howe  a  medal  in  recognition  of  his 
work  for  the  blind,  the  Chevalier  declared 
laughingly:  "It  is  worth  just  what  I  was 
obliged  to  pay  for  board  and  lodging  while  in 
the  Berlin  prison.  His  Majesty  is  magnani- 
mous!" 

After  traveling  through  Switzerland,  Italy, 
and  France,  the  Howes  stopped  for  a  second 

137 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

visit  to  England,  where  they  were  entertained 
for  a  time  by  the  parents  of  Florence  Night- 
ingale. A  warm  attachment  sprang  up  between 
them  and  the  earnest  young  woman  of  twenty- 
four. 

"I  want  to  ask  your  advice,  Dr.  Howe,"  said 
Miss  Nightingale,  one  day.  "Would  it  be  un- 
suitable for  a  young  Englishwoman  to  devote 
herself  to  works  of  charity  in  hospitals  and 
wherever  needed,  just  as  the  Catholic  sisters 


The  doctor  replied  gravely,  "My  dear  Miss 
Florence,  it  would  be  unusual,  and  in  England 
whatever  is  unusual  is  apt  to  be  thought  unsuit- 
able ;  but  I  say  to  you,  go  forward,  if  you  have 
a  vocation  for  that  way  of  life;  act  up  to  your 
inspiration,  and  you  will  find  that  there  is  never 
anything  unbecoming  or  unladylike  in  doing 
your  duty  for  the  good  of  others." 

After  the  Howes  had  returned  to  Boston  and 
settled  down  to  the  work-a-day  order  in  the  In- 
stitution the  young  wife's  loyalty  to  the  new 
life  was  often  sorely  tried.  She  loved  the  sun- 
shine of  the  bright,  gracious  world  of  leisurely, 
happy  people,  and  she  felt  herself  chilled  in  this 

138 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

bleak  gray  place  of  sober  duties.  If  only  she 
could  warm  herself  at  the  fire  of  friendship 
oftener!  But  all  the  pleasant  people  lived  in 
pleasant  places  too  far  from  the  South  Boston 
institution  for  the  give  and  take  of  easy  inter- 
course. Dr.  Howe,  moreover,  was  much  of  the 
time  so  absorbed  in  the  causes  of  which  he  was 
champion-in-chief  that  few  hours  were  saved 
for  quiet  fireside  enjoyment. 

"I  hardly  know  what  I  should  have  done  in 
those  days,"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  * 'without  the 
companionship  of  my  babies  and  Miss  Catherine 
Beecher's  cook-book." 

The  Chevalier  loved  to  invite  for  a  weekly 
dinner  his  especial  group  of  intimates — five 
choice  spirits,  among  whom  Longfellow  and 
Sumner  were  numbered,  who  styled  themselves 
"The  Five  of  Clubs."  These  dinners  brought 
many  new  problems  to  the  young  hostess,  who 
now  wished  that  some  portion  of  her  girlhood 
days  lavished  on  Italian  and  music  had  been 
devoted  to  the  more  intimate  side  of  menus. 
However,  she  was  before  long  able  to  take  pride 
in  her  puddings  without  renouncing  poetry; 
and  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  economy  of  the  kitchen 

139 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

and  her  sense  of  humor  at  the  same  time,  as 
the,  following  extract  from  a  breezy  letter  to 
her  sister  Louisa  can  testify : 

Our  house  has  been  enlivened  of  late  by  two  delightful 
visits.  The  first  was  from  the  soap-fat  merchant,  who 
gave  me  thirty-four  pounds  of  good  soap  for  my  grease. 
I  was  quite  beside  myself  with  joy,  capered  about  in  the 
most  enthusiastic  manner,  and  was  going  to  hug  in  turn 
the  soap,  the  grease,  and  the  man,  when  I  reflected  that  it 
would  not  sound  well  in  history.  This  morning  came  the 
rag  man,  who  takes  rags  and  gives  nice  tin  vessels  in  ex- 
change. .  .  .  Both  of  these  were  clever  transactions.  Oh,  if 
you  had  seen  me  stand  by  the  soap-fat  man,  and  scrutinize 
his  weights  and  measures,  telling  him  again  and  again  that 
it  was  beautiful  grease,  and  that  he  must  allow  me  a  good 
price  for  it — truly,  I  am  a  mother  in  Israel. 

The  hours  spent  with  her  wee  daughters  were 
happy  times.  Sometimes  she  improvised  jin- 
gles to  amuse  Baby  Flossy  (Florence,  after 
Florence  Nightingale)  and  tease  the  absorbed 
father-reformer  at  the  same  time: 

Rero,  rero,  riddlety  rad, 

This  morning  my  baby  caught  sight  of  her  dad, 
Quoth  she,  "Oh,  Daddy,  where  have  you  been?" 
"With  Mann  and  Sumner  a-putting  down  sin!" 

Sometimes  she  sang  little  bedtime  rhymes  about 
lambs  and  baby  birds,  sheep  and  sleep;  and, 
when  the  small  auditors  demanded  that  their 

140 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

particular  pets  have  a  part  in  the  song,  readily 
added : 

The  little  donkey  in  the  stable 
Sleeps  as  sound  as  he  is  able; 
All  things  now  their  rest  pursue, 
You  are  sleepy  too. 

As  soon  as  Dr.  Howe  could  find  a  suitable 
place  near  the  Institution  he  moved  his  little 
family  into  a  home  of  their  own.  On  the  bright 
summer  day  when  Mrs.  Howe  drove  under  the 
bower  formed  by  the  fine  old  trees  that  guarded 
the  house,  she  exclaimed,  "Oh,  this  is  green 
peace!"  And  "Green  Peace"  their  home  was 
called  from  that  day.  The  children  enjoyed 
here  healthful  outdoor  times  and  happy  indoor 
frolics — plays  given  at  their  dolls'  theater,  when 
father  and  mother  worked  the  puppets  to  a 
dialogue  of  squeaks  and  grunts ;  and  really-truly 
plays,  such  as  "The  Three  Bears"  (when 
Father  distinguished  himself  as  the  Great  Big 
Huge  Bear),  "The  Rose  and  the  Ring,"  and 
"Bluebeard." 

In  the  midst  of  the  joys  and  cares  of  such 
a  rich  home-life,  how  was  it  that  the  busy 
mother  still  found  time  for  study  and  writing? 

141 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

For  she  was  always  a  student,  keeping  her  mind 
in  training  as  an  athlete  keeps  his  muscles ;  and 
the  need  of  finding  expression  in  words  for  her 
inner  life  became  more  insistent  as  time  went 
on.  One  of  her  daughters  once  said: 


'It  was  a  matter  of  course  to  us  children  that  Tapa 
and  Mamma'  should  play  with  us,  sing  to  us,  tell  us  stories, 
bathe  our  bumps,  and  accompany  us  to  the  dentist;  these 
were  the  things-  that  papas  and  mammas  did!  Looking 
back  now  with  some  realization  of  all  the  other  things 
they  did,  we  wonder  how  they  managed  it.  For  one  thing, 
both  were  rapid  workers;  for  another,  both  had  the  power 
of  leading  and  inspiring  others  to  work;  for  a  third, 
so  far  as  we  can  see,  neither  wasted  a  moment;  for  a 
fourth,  neither  ever  reached  a  point  where  there  was 
not  some  other  task  ahead,  to  be  begun  as  soon  as  might 
be." 


Life  with  the  beloved  reformer  was  often  far 
from  easy,  but  there  were  never  any  regrets  for 
the  old  care-free  days.  "I  shipped  as  captain's 
mate  for  the  voyage!"  she  said  on  one  occasion, 
with  a  merry  laugh  that  was  like  a  heartening 
cheer;  and  then  she  added  seriously,  "I  cannot 
imagine  a  more  useful  motto  for  married  life." 
Always  she  realized  that  she  owed  all  that  was 
deepest  and  most  steadfast  in  herself  to  this 

142 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

union.  "But  for  the  Chevalier,  I  should  have 
been  merely  a  woman  of  the  world  and  a  lit- 
erary dabbler!"  she  said. 

A  volume  of  verse,  "Passion  Flower s,"  was 
praised  by  Longfellow  and  Whittier  and  won 
a  wide  popularity.  A  later  collection,  "Words 
for  the  Hour,"  was,  on  the  whole,  better,  but 
not  so  much  read.  Still,  the  woman  felt  that 
she  had  not  yet  really  found  herself  in  her 
work.  She  longed  to  give  something  that  was 
vital — something  that  would  fill  a  need  and 
make  a  difference  to  people  in  the  real  world 
of  action. 

The  days  of  the  Civil  War  made  every  ear- 
nest spirit  long  to  be  of  some  service  to  the  na- 
tion and  to  humanity.  Dr.  Howe  and  his 
friend  were  among  the  leaders  of  the  Abolition- 
ists at  the  time  when  they  were  a  despised 
"party  of  cranks  and  martyrs."  It  was  small 
wonder  that,  when  the  struggle  came,  Mrs. 
Howe's  soul  was  fired  with  the  desire  to  help. 
There  seemed  nothing  that  she  could  do  but 
scrape  lint  for  the  hospitals — which  any  other 
woman  could  do  equally  well.  If  only  her  po- 
etic gift  were  not  such  a  slender  reed — if  she 

143 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

could  but  command  an  instrument  of  trumpet 
strength  to  voice  the  spirit  of  the  hour! 

In  this  mood  she  had  gone  to  Washington  to 
see  a  review  of  the  troops.  On  returning,  while 
her  carriage  was  delayed  by  the  marching  regi- 
ments, her  companions  tried  to  relieve  the  ten- 
sity and  tedium  of  the  wait  by  singing  war 
songs,  among  others: 

"John  Brown's  body  lies  a-moldering  in  the  grave; 
His  soul  is  marching  on !" 

The  passing  soldiers  caught  at  this  with  a 
"Good  for  you!"  and  joined  in  the  chorus. 
"Mrs.  Howe,"  said  her  minister,  James  Free- 
man Clarke,  who  was  one  of  the  company,  "why 
do  you  not  write  some  really  worthy  words  for 
that  stirring  tune?" 

"I  have  often  wished  to  do  so,"  she  replied. 

Let  us  tell  the  story  of  the  writing  of  the 
"nation's  song"  as  her  daughters  have  told  it 
in  the  biography  of  their  mother : 

Waking  in  the  gray  of  the  next  morning,  as  she  lay 
waiting  for  the  dawn  the  word  came  to  her. 

"Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the 
Lord—" 

She  lay  perfectly  still.  Line  by  line,  stanza  by  stanza, 
the  words  came  sweeping  on  with  the  rhythm  of  marching 

144 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

feet,  pauseless,  resistless.  She  saw  the  long  lines  swinging 
into  place  before  her  eyes,  heard  the  voice  of  the  nation 
speaking  through  her  lips.  She  waited  till  the  voice  was 
silent,  till  the  last  line  was  ended;  then  sprang  from  bed, 
and,  groping  for  pen  and  paper,  scrawled  in  the  gray 
twilight  the  "Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic." 

And  so  the  " nation's  song"  was  born.  How 
did  it  come  to  pass  that  the  people  knew  it  as 
their  own?  When  it  appeared  in  the  "Atlantic 
Monthly"  it  called  forth  little  comment;  the 
days  gave  small  chance  for  the  poetry  of  words. 
But  some  poets  in  the  real  world  of  deeds  had 
seen  it — the  people  who  were  fighting  on  the 
nation's  battle-fields.  And  again  and  again  it 
was  sung  and  chanted  as  a  prayer  before  battle 
and  a  trumpet-call  to  action.  A  certain  fight- 
ing chaplain,  who  had  committed  it  to  memory, 
sang  it  one  memorable  night  in  Libby  Prison, 
when  the  joyful  tidings  of  the  victory  of  Gettys- 
burg had  penetrated  even  those  gloomy  walls. 
"Like  a  flame  the  word  flashed  through  the 
prison.  Men  leaped  to  their  feet,  shouted,  em- 
braced one  another  in  a  frenzy  of  joy  and  tri- 
umph; and  Chaplain  McCabe,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  lifted  up  his  great  voice 
and  sang  aloud: 

145 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

"Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coining  of  the 
Lord!" 

Every  voice  took  up  the  chorus,  and  Libby 
Prison  rang  with  the  shout  of  *  Glory,  glory, 
hallelujah I'" 

Later,  when  Chaplain  McCabe  related  to  a 
great  audience  in  Washington  the  story  of  that 
night  and  ended  by  singing  the  "Battle  Hymn 
of  the  Republic,"  as  only  one  who  has  lived  it 
can  sing  it,  the  voice  of  Abraham  Lincoln  was 
heard  above  the  wild  applause,  calling,  as  the 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks,  "Sing  it  again!" 

It  has  been  said  that  what  a  person  does  in 
some  great  moment  of  his  life — in  a  moment  of 
fiery  trial  or  of  high  exaltation — is  the  result  of 
all  the  thoughts  and  deeds  of  all  the  slow-chang- 
ing days.  So  the  habits  of  a  lifetime  cry  out 
at  last.  Is  it  not  true  that  this  "nation's 
song,"  which  seemed  to  write  itself  in  a  wonder- 
ful moment  of  inspiration,  was  really  the  ex- 
pression of  years  of  brave,  faithful  living?  All 
the  earnestness  of  the  child,  all  the  dreams  and 
warm  friendliness  of  the  girl,  all  the  tenderness 
and  loyal  devotion  of  the  wife  and  mother, 
speak  in  those  words.  Nor  is  it  the  voice  of 

146 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 

her  life  alone.  The  trumpet-call  of  her  fore- 
bears was  in  those  stirring  lines.  Only  a  tried 
and  true  American,  whose  people  had  fought 
and  suffered  for  freedom's  sake,  could  have 
written  that  nation's  song. 

Julia  Ward  Howe's  long  life  of  ninety-one 
years  was  throughout  one  of  service  and  in- 
spiration. Many  people  were  better  and  hap- 
pier because  of  her  life.  It  was  a  great  mo- 
ment when,  on  the  occasion  of  any  public  gath- 
ering, the  word  went  around  that  Mrs.  Howe 
was  present.  With  one  accord  those  assembled 
would  rise  to  their  feet,  and  hall  or  theater 
would  ring  with  the  inspiring  lines  of  the 
"Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic." 

The  man  who  said,  "I  care  not  who  shall 
make  the  laws  of  the  nation,  if  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  make  its  songs, "  spoke  wisely.  A 
true  song  comes  from  the  heart  and  goes  to  the 
heart.  A  nation's  song  is  the  voice  of  the  heart 
and  life  of  a  whole  people.  In  it  the  hearts  of 
many  beat  together  as  one. 


147 


A  CHAMPION  OF  "THE  CAUSE"; 
ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 


Nothing  bigger  can  come  to  a  human  being  than  to  love 
a  great  Cause  more  than  life  itself,  and  to  have  the  privi- 
lege throughout  life  of  working  for  that  Cause. 

ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW. 


A  CHAMPION  OF  "THE  CAUSE" 

AYOUNGr  girl  was  standing  on  a  stump 
in  the  woods,  waving  her  arms  and 
talking  very  earnestly.  There  was  no  one 
there  to  listen  except  a  robin  a-tilt  on  a  branch 
where  the  afternoon  sun  could  turn  his  rusty 
brown  breast  to  red,  and  a  chattering,  inquisi- 
tive blue  jay.  All  the  other  little  wood  folk 
were  in  hiding.  That  strange  creature  was  in 
the  woods  but  not  of  them.  She  belonged  to 
the  world  of  people. 

The  girl  knew  that  she  belonged  to  a  differ- 
ent world.  She  was  not  trying  to  play  that  she 
was  a  little  American  Saint  Francis  preaching 
to  the  birds  in  the  forests  of  northern  Michi- 
gan. She  was  looking  past  the  great  trees  and 
all  the  busy  life  that  lurked  there  to  the  far- 
away haunts  of  men.  Somehow  she  felt  that 
she  would  have  something  to  say  to  them  some 
day. 

151 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

She  raised  her  clasped  hands  high  above  her 
head  and  lifted  her  face  to  the  patch  of  sky 
that  gleamed  deep  blue  between  the  golden- 
green  branches  of  the  trees.  "  There  is  much 
that  I  can  say,"  she  declared  fervently.  "I 
am  only  a  girl,  but  I  feel  in  my  heart  that  some 
day  people  will  listen  to  me." 

A  gray  squirrel  scampered  noisily  across  the 
dry  brown  leaves  and  frisked  up  a  tree  trunk, 
where  he  clung  for  a  moment  regarding  the 
girl  on  the  stump  with  shining,  curious  eyes. 

"Saucy  nutcracker!"  cried  the  child,  toss- 
ing an  acorn  at  the  alert  little  creature.  "Do 
you  too  think  it  strange  for  a  girl  to  want  to  do 
things?  What  would  you  say  if  I  should  tell 
you  that  a  young  girl  once  led  a  great  army  to 
victory? — a  poor  girl  who  had  to  work  hard  all 
day  just  as  I  do?  She  did  not  know  how  to 
read  or  write,  but  she  knew  how  to  answer  all 
the  puzzling  questions  that  the  learned  and 
powerful  men  of  the  day  (who  tried  with  all 
their  might  to  trip  her  up)  could  think  to  ask. 
They  called  her  a  witch  then.  'Of  a  truth  this 
girl  Joan  must  be  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit,' 
they  said.  'Who  ever  heard  of  a  maid  speak- 

152 


ANNA  HOWAKD  SHAW 

ing  as  she  speaks  ?'  Years  afterward  they 
called  her  a  saint.  She  was  the  leader  of  her 
people  even  though  she  was  a  girl —  Now  I 
don't  mean,  fellow  birds  and  squirrels,  that  I 
expect  to  be  another  Joan  of  Arc,  but  I  know 
that  I  shall  be  something !" 

Anna  Shaw's  bright  dark  eyes  glowed  with 
intense  feeling.  Like  the  maid  of  whom  she 
had  been  reading,  she  had  her  vision — a  vision 
of  a  large,  happy  life  waiting  for  her — little, 
untaught  backwoods  girl  though  she  was.  Her 
book  led  the  way  down  a  charmed  path  into  the 
world  of  dreams.  For  the  time  she  forgot  the 
drudgery  of  the  days — the  plowing  and  plant- 
ing and  hoeing  about  the  stumps  of  their  little 
clearing,  the  cutting  of  wood,  the  carrying  of 
water.  She  walked  back  to  the  cabin  that  was 
home,  with  her  head  held  high  and  her  lips 
parted  in  a  smile.  But  all  at  once  she  was 
brought  back  to  real  things  with  a  rude  bump. 

1  'What  have  you  been  doing,  Anna?"  de- 
manded her  father,  who  stood  waiting  for  her 
in  the  doorway. 

"Reading,  sir,"  the  girl  faltered. 

"So  you  have  been  idling  away  precious 
153 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

hours  at  a  time  your  mother  has  needed  your 
help?"  the  stern  voice  went  on  accusingly. 
"What  do  you  suppose  the  future  will  bring  to 
one  who  has  not  proved  'faithful  in  little 'I" 

The  girl  looked  at  her  father  without  speak- 
ing. She  knew  that  her  share  in  the  work  of 
the  household  was  not  "little."  Her  young 
hands  hardened  from  rough  toil  twitched  nerv- 
ously; the  injustice  cut  her  to  the  quick. 
Couldn't  her  father  imagine  what  holding 
down  that  claim  in  the  woods  had  meant  for 
the  little  family  during  the  eighteen  months 
that  he  and  the  two  older  boys  had  remained 
behind  in  the  East?  In  his  joy  at  securing  the 
grant  of  land  from  the  Government,  he  already 
pictured  the  well-conditioned  farm  that  would 
one  day  be  his  and  his  children's.  "The  acorn 
was  not  an  acorn,  but  a  forest  of  young  oaks." 

In  a  flash  she  saw  as  if  it  were  yesterday  the 
afternoon  when  their  pathetic  little  caravan  had 
at  last  reached  the  home  that  awaited  them. 
She  saw  the  frail,  tired  mother  give  one  glance 
at  the  rude  log  hut  in  the  stump-filled  clearing, 
and  then  sink  in  a  despairing  heap  on  the  dirt 
floor.  It  was  but  the  hollow  shell  of  a  cabin 

154 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

— walls  and  roof,  with  square  holes  for  door 
and  windows  gaping  forlornly  at  the  home- 
seekers.  She  heard  the  wolves  and  wildcats 
as  she  had  on  that  first  night  when  they  had 
huddled  together — helpless  creatures  from  an- 
other world — not  knowing  if  their  watch-fires 
would  keep  the  hungry  beasts  at  bay.  She  saw 
parties  of  Indians  stalk  by  in  war-paint  and 
feathers.  She  saw  herself,  a  child  of  twelve, 
trudging  wearily  to  the  distant  creek  for  water 
until  the  time  when,  with  her  brother's  help, 
she  dug  a  well.  There  was,  too,  the  work  of 
laying  a  floor  and  putting  in  doors  and  win- 
dows. Like  Robinson  Crusoe,  she  had  served 
a  turn  at  every  trade ;  to-day  that  of  carpenter 
or  builder,  to-morrow  that  of  farmer,  fisher- 
man, or  woodcutter. 

As  these  pictures  flashed  before  the  eye  of 
memory  she  looked  at  her  father  quietly,  with- 
out a  word  of  defense  or  self-pity.  All  she  said 
was,  " Father,  some  day  I  am  going  to  college." 

The  little  smile  that  curled  his  lips  as  he 
looked  his  astonishment  drove  her  to  another 
boast.  The  dreams  of  the  free  calm  woods  and 
the  heroic  Maid  of  Orleans  had  faded  away. 

155 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

Somehow  she  longed  to  put  forth  her  claim  in 
a  way  to  impress  any  one,  even  a  man  who  felt 
that  a  girl  ought  not  to  want  anything  but 
drudging.  "And  before  I  die  I  shall  be  worth 
$10,000,"  she  prophesied  boldly. 

However,  the  months  that  succeeded  gave  no 
sign  of  any  change  of  fortune.  A  sudden  storm 
turned  a  day  of  toil  now  and  then  into  a  red- 
letter  day  when  one  had  chance  to  read  the 
books  that  father  had  brought  with  him  into  the 
wilderness.  Sometimes  one  could  stretch  at. 
ease  on  the  floor  and  dreamily  scan  the  pages 
of  the  "Weekly"  that  papered  the  walls. 
There  was  always  abundant  opportunity  in  the 
busy  hours  that  followed  to  reflect  on  what  one 
had  read— to  compare,  to  contrast,  and  to  ap- 
ply, and  so  to  annex  for  go'od  and  all  the  ideas 
that  the  books  had  to  give. 

It  was  clear,  too,  that  there  were  many  in- 
teresting things  to  be  seen  and  enjoyed  even  in 
the  most  humdrum  work-a-day  round,  if  one 
were  able  to  read  real  life  as  well  as  print. 
Could  anything  be  more  delightful  than  the 
way  father  would  drop  his  hoe  and  run  into  the 
house  to  work  out  a  problem  concerning  the 

156 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

yield  of  a  certain  number  of  kernels  of  corn? 
The  days  would  go  by  while  he  calculated  and 
speculated  energetically  over  this  problem  and 
that,  leaving  such  trivial  tasks  as  planting  and 
plowing  to  others.  Then  there  were  the  week- 
end visitors.  Often  as  many  as  ten  or  a  dozen 
of  the  neighboring  settlers — big  lumbermen  and 
farmers — would  come  on  Saturday,  to  spend 
the  night  and  Sunday  listening  to  her  father 
read.  When  it  was  delicately  hinted  that  this 
was  a  tax  on  the  family  store  of  tallow  dips, 
each  man  dutifully  brought  a  candle  to  light 
the  way  to  learning.  It  never  seemed  to  oc- 
cur, either  to  them  or  to  the  impractical  father, 
who  liked  nothing  better  than  reading  and  ex- 
pounding, that  the  entertainment  of  so  many 
guests  was  a  severe  tax  on  the  strength  and 
patience  of  the  working  members  of  the  house- 
hold. 

But  life  was  not  all  labor.  There  was  now 
and  then  a  wonderful  ball  at  Big  Rapids,  then 
a  booming  lumber  town.  When  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  get  any  sort  of  a  team  to  make  the  jour- 
ney, they  went  down  the  river  on  a  raft,  taking 
their  party  dresses  in  trunks.  As  balls,  like 

157 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

other  good  things  in  pioneer  experience,  were 
all  too  rare,  it  was  the  custom  to  make  the  most 
of  each  occasion  by  changing  one's  costume  at 
midnight,  and  thus  starting  off  with  fresh  en- 
thusiasm to  dance  the  "money  musk"  and  the 
"Virginia  reel'*  in  the  small  hours. 

"Our  costumes  in  those  days  had  at  least  the 
spice  of  originality,"  said  Miss  Shaw  with  a 
reminiscent  smile.  "I  well  remember  a  certain 
gay  ball  gown  of  my  own,  made  of  bedroom 
chintz;  and  the  home-tailored  trousers  of  my 
gallant  swain,  whose  economical  mother  had 
employed  flour  sacks,  on  which  the  local  firm- 
name  and  the  guarantee,  '96  pounds,'  appeared 
indelibly  imprinted.  A  blue  flannel  shirt  and  a 
festive  yellow  sash  completed  his  interesting 
outfit." 

When  Anna  Shaw  was  fifteen  she  began  to 
teach  in  the  little  log  schoolhouse  of  the  settle- 
ment for  two  dollars  a  week  and  "board 
round."  The  day's  work  often  meant  a  walk 
of  from  three  to  six  miles,  a  trip  to  the  woods 
for  fuel,  the  making  of  the  wood  fire  and  the 
partial  drying  of  rain-soaked  clothes,  before 
instruction  began.  Then  imagine  the  child  of 

158 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

fifteen  teaching  fifteen  children  of  assorted  ages 
and  dispositions  out  of  fifteen  different  "read- 
ing books,"  most  of  which  she  had  herself  sup- 
plied. "I  remember  that  one  little  girl  read 
from  a  hymn-book,  while  another  had  an  al- 
manac," she  said. 

As  there  was  no  money  for  such  luxuries  as 
education  until  the  dog-tax  had  been  collected, 
the  young  teacher  received  one  bright  spring 
day  the  dazzling  sum  of  twenty-six  dollars  for 
the  entire  term  of  thirteen  weeks.  In  the 
spending  of  this  wealth,  spring  and  youth 
carried  the  day.  Joan  of  Arc  and  the  preach- 
ing in  the  woods  were  for  the  time  forgotten; 
she  longed  above  everything  else  to  have  some 
of  the  pretty  things  that  all  girls  love.  Mak- 
ing a  pilgrimage  to  a  real  shop,  she  bought  her 
first  real  party  dress — a  splendid  creation  of 
rich  magenta  color,  elaborately  decorated  with 
black  braid. 

Perhaps  she  regretted  all  too  soon  the  rash- 
ness of  this  expenditure,  for  the  next  year 
brought  hard  times.  War  had  been  declared, 
and  Lincoln's  call  for  troops  had  taken  all  the 
able-bodied  men  of  the  community.  "When 

159 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

news  came  that  Fort  Sumter  had  been  fired 
on,"  said  Miss  Shaw,  "our  men  were  thresh- 
ing. I  remember  seeing  a  man  ride  up  on 
horseback,  shouting  out  Lincoln's  demand  for 
troops  and  explaining  that  a  regiment  was  be- 
ing formed  at  Big  Rapids.  Before  he  had  fin- 
ished speaking  the  men  on  the  machine  had 
leaped  to  the  ground  and  rushed  off  to  enlist, 
my  brother  Jack,  who  had  recently  joined  us, 
among  them." 

Anna  Shaw  was  now  the  chief  support  of  the 
little  home  in  the  wilderness,  and  the  pitiful 
sum  earned  by  teaching  had  to  be  eked  out  by 
boarding  the  workers  from  the  lumber-camps 
and  taking  in  sewing,  in  order  to  pay  the  taxes 
and  meet  the  bare  necessities  of  life.  With 
calico  selling  for  fifty  cents  a  yard,  coffee  for 
a  dollar  a  pound,  and  everything  else  in  pro- 
portion, one  cannot  but  marvel  how  the  women 
and  children  managed  to  exist.  They  strug- 
gled along,  with  hearts  heavy  with  anxiety  for 
loved  ones  on  the  battlefields,  to  do  as  best 
they  could  the  work  of  the  men — gathering  in 
the  crops,  grinding  the  corn,  and  caring  for 
the  cattle — in  addition  to  the  homekeeping 

160 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

tasks  of  the  daily  round.  It  takes,  perhaps, 
more  courage  and  endurance  to  be  a  faithful 
member  of  the  home  army  than  it  does  to  march 
into  battle  with  bands  playing  and  colors  fly- 
ing. 

When,  at  the  end  of  the  war,  the  return  of 
the  father  and  brothers  freed  her  from  the  re- 
sponsibility for  the  upkeep  of  the  home,  Anna 
Shaw  determined  upon  a  bold  step.  Realizing 
that  years  must  pass  before  she  could  save 
enough  from  her  earnings  as  country  school- 
teacher to  go  to  college,  she  went  to  live  with  a 
married  sister  in  Big  Rapids  and  entered  as  a 
pupil  in  the  high  school  there.  The  precep- 
tress, Miss  Lucy  Foot,  who  was  a  college  grad- 
uate and  a  woman  of  unusual  strength  of  char- 
acter, took  a  lively  interest  in  the  new  student 
and  encouraged  her  ambition  to  preach  by  put- 
ting her  in  the  classes  in  public  speaking  and 
debating. 

"I  vividly  remember  my  first  recitation  in 
public,"  said  Miss  Shaw.  "I  was  so  overcome 
by  the  impressiveness  of  the  audience  and  the 
occasion,  and  so  appalled  at  my  own  boldness 
in  standing  there,  that  I  sank  in  a  faint  on  the 

161 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

platform.  Sympathetic  classmates  carried  me 
out  and  revived  me,  after  which  they  naturally 
assumed  that  the  entertainment  I  furnished 
was  over  for  the  evening.  I,  however,  felt 
that  if  I  let  that  failure  stand  against  me  I 
could  never  afterward  speak  in  public;  and 
within  ten  minutes,  notwithstanding  the  pro- 
tests of  my  friends,  I  was  back  in  the  hall  and 
beginning  my  recitation  a  second  time.  The 
audience  gave  me  its  eager  attention.  Possi- 
bly it  hoped  to  see  me  topple  off  the  platform 
again,  but  nothing  of  the  sort  occurred.  I 
went  through  the  recitation  with  self-posses- 
sion and  received  some  friendly  applause  at 
the  end." 

After  this  maiden  speech,  the  young  girl  ap- 
peared frequently  in  public,  now  in  school  de- 
bates, now  in  amateur  theatricals.  It  was  as 
if  the  Fates  had  her  case  particularly  in  hand 
at  this  time,  for  everything  seemed  to  further 
the  secret  longing  that  had  possessed  her  ever 
since  the  days  when  she  had  preached  to  the 
trees  in  the  forest. 

There  was  a  growing  sentiment  in  favor  of 
licensing  women  to  preach  in  the  Methodist 

162 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

Church,  and  Dr.  Peck,  the  presiding  elder  of 
the  Big  Rapids  district,  who  was  chief  among 
the  advocates  of  the  movement,  was  anxious  to 
present  the  first  woman  candidate  for  the  min- 
istry. Meeting  the  alert,  ardent  young  student 
at  the  home  of  her  teacher,  Dr.  Peck  took  pains 
to  draw  her  into  conversation.  Soon  she  was 
talking  freely,  with  eager  animation,  and  her 
questioner  was  listening  with  interest,  nodding 
approval  now  and  then.  Then  an  amazing 
thing  happened.  Dr.  Peck  looked  at  her  smil- 
ingly and  asked  in  an  oif-hand  manner : 

"Would  you  like  to  preach  the  quarterly  ser- 
mon at  Ashton?" 

The  young  woman  gasped ;  she  stared  at  the 
good  man  in  astonishment.  Then  she  realized 
that  he  was  speaking  in  entire  seriousness. 

"Why,"  she  stammered,  "I  can't  preach  a 
sermon ! ' ' 

"Have  you  ever  tried?"  he  asked. 

"Never!"  she  began,  and  then  as  the  picture 
of  her  childish  self  standing  on  the  stump  in 
the  sunlit  woods  flashed  upon  her,  "Never  to 
human  beings!"  she  amended. 

Dr.  Peck  was  smiling  again.  "Well,"  he 
163 


said,  "the  door  is  open.  Enter  or  not,  as  you 
wish." 

After  much  serious  counsel  with  Miss  Foot 
and  with  her  own  soul,  Anna  Shaw  determined 
to  go  in  at  the  open  door.  For  six  weeks  the 
preparation  of  the  first  sermon  engaged  most 
of  her  waking  thoughts,  and  even  in  her  dreams 
the  text  she  had  chosen  sounded  in  her  ears. 
It  was,  moreover,  a  time  of  no  little  anguish 
of  spirit  because  of  the  consternation  with 
which  her  family  regarded  her  unusual  "call.'* 
One  might  as  well  be  guilty  of  crime,  it  ap- 
peared, as  to  be  so  forward  and  unwomanly. 
Finding  it  impossible  to  bring  her  to  reason  in 
any  other  way,  they  tried  a  bribe.  After  a 
solemn  gathering  of  the  clans,  it  was  agreed 
that  if  she  would  give  up  this  insane  ambition 
to  preach,  they  would  send  her  to  college — 
to  Ann  Arbor — and  defray  all  her  expenses. 
The  thought  of  Ann  Arbor  was  a  sore  tempta- 
tion ;  but  she  realized  that  she  could  no  more  be 
faithless  to  the  vision  that  had  been  with  her 
from  childhood  than  she  could  cease  being  her- 
self. 

The  momentous  first  sermon  was  the  fore- 
164 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

runner  of  many  others  in  different  places,  and 
when  at  the  conference  the  members  were  asked 
to  vote  whether  she  should  be  licensed  as  a 
local  preacher,  the  majority  of  the  ministers 
raised  both  hands! 

She  was,  however,  still  regarded  as  the  black 
sheep  of  the  family,  and  it  was  with  a  heavy 
spirit  that  she  plodded  on  day  by  day  with  her 
studies.  Surely  nobody  was  ever  more  in  need 
of  a  friendly  word  than  was  Anna  Shaw  at  the 
time  that  Mary  A.  Livermore  came  to  lecture 
in  Big  Eapids.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting 
she  was  among  those  gathered  in  a  circle  about 
the  distinguished  speaker,  when  some  one 
pointed  her  out,  remarking  that  "there  was  a 
young  person  who  wanted  to  preach  in  spite 
of  the  opposition  and  entreaties  of  'all  her 
friends. ' ' 

Mrs.  Livermore  looked  into  Anna  Shaw's 
glowing  eyes  with  sudden  interest;  then  she 
put  her  arm  about  her  and  said  quietly,  "My 
dear,  if  you  want  to  preach,  go  on  and  preach. 
No  matter  what  people  say,  don't  let  them 
stop  you!" 

Before  Miss  Shaw  could  choke  back  her  emo- 
165 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

tion  sufficiently  to  reply,  one  of  her  good 
friends  exclaimed:  "Oh,  Mrs.  Livermore, 
don't  say  that  to  her!  We  're  all  trying  to 
stop  her.  Her  people  are  wretched  over  the 
whole  thing.  And  don't  you  see  how  ill  she 
is?  She  has  one  foot  in  the  grave  and  the 
other  almost  there!'* 

1  'Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Livermore,  looking 
thoughtfully  at  the  white  face  that  was  turned 
appealingly  toward  her,  "I  see  she  has.  But 
it  is  better  that  she  should  die  doing  the  thing 
she  wants  to  do  than  that  she  should  die  be- 
cause she  can't  do  it." 

"So  they  think  I'm  going  to  die!"  cried 
Miss  Shaw.  "Well,  I  *m  not!  I  'm  going  to 
live  and  preach!" 

With  renewed  zeal  and  courage  she  turned 
again  to  her  books,  and,  in  the  autumn  of  1873, 
entered  Albion  College.  "With  only  eighteen 
dollars  as  my  entire  capital,"  she  said,  "and 
not  the  least  idea  how  I  might  add  to  it,  I  was 
approaching  the  campus  when  I  picked  up  a 
copper  cent  bearing  the  date  of  my  birth,  1848. 
It  seemed  to  me  a  good  omen,  and  I  was  sure 
of  it  when  within  the  week  I  found  two  more 

166 


Pkotu  ty  /in.Kti  B 


Anna  Howard  Shaw 


• 


ANNA  HOWAKD  SHAW 

pennies  exactly  like  it.  Though  I  have  more 
than  once  been  tempted  to  spend  those  pen- 
nies, I  have  them  still — to  my  great  com- 
fort!" 

At  college  she  was  distinguished  for  her  in- 
dependence of  thought  and  for  her  alert,  vigor- 
ous mind.  When,  on  being  invited  to  join  the 
literary  society  that  boasted  both  men  and 
women  members  instead  of  the  exclusively 
feminine  group,  she  was  assured  that  "women 
need  to  be  associated  with  men  because  they 
don't  know  how  to  manage  meetings,"  she  re- 
plied with  spirit : 

"If  they  don't,  it 's  high  time  they  learned. 
I  shall  join  the  women,  and  we  '11  master  the 
art." 

Her  gift  as  a  public  speaker  not  only  earned 
her  a  place  of  prominence  in  her  class  through 
her  able  debates  and  orations,  but  it  also  helped 
pay  her  way  through  college,  since  she  received 
now  and  then  five  dollars  for  a  temperance  talk 
in  one  of  the  near-by  country  schoolhouses. 
But  such  sums  came  at  uncertain  intervals,  and 
her  board  bills  came  due  with  discouraging 
regularity.  A  gift  of  ninety-two  dollars,  sent 

169 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

at  Christmas  by  her  friends  in  Big  Rapids, 
alone  made  it  possible  for  her  to  get  through 
the  term. 

Though  the  second  year  at  Albion  was  com- 
paratively smooth  sailing  because  her  reputa- 
tion had  brought  enough  "calls"  to  preach  and 
lecture  to  defray  her  modest  expenses,  she  de- 
cided to  go  to  Boston  University  for  her 
theological  course.  She  was  able  to  make  her 
way  in  the  West;  why  was  it  not  possible  to 
do  the  same  in  the  place  where  she  could  get 
the  needed  equipment  for  her  life  work? 

But  she  soon  found  what  it  means  to  be  alone 
and  penniless  in  a  large  city.  Opportunities 
were  few  and  hungry  students  were  many. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  tempted 
to  give  up  and  own  herself  beaten,  when  a  sud- 
den rift  came  in  the  clouds  of  discouragement. 
She  was  invited  to  assist  in  holding  a  "revival 
week"  in  one  of  the  Boston  churches. 

It  was  soon  evident  that  one  could  live  on 
milk  and  crackers  if  only  hope  were  added. 
The  week's  campaign  was  a  great  success.  If 
she  herself  had  not  been  able  to  feel  the  fervor 
and  enthusiasm  that  the  meetings  had  aroused, 

170 


she  could  have  no  doubt  when  the  minister  as- 
sured her  that  her  help  had  proved  invalu- 
able— that  he  greatly  wished  he  were  able  to 
give  her  the  fifty  dollars,  which  at  the  very 
lowest  estimate  she  deserved — but  alas !  he  had 
nothing  to  offer  but  his  heartfelt  thanks ! 

When  Miss  Shaw  passed  out  of  the  church 
her  heart  was  indeed  heavy.  She  had  failed! 
"I  was  friendless,  penniless,  and  starving," 
she  said,  "but  it  was  not  of  these  conditions 
that  I  thought  then.  The  one  overwhelming 
fact  was  that  I  had  been  weighed  and  found 
wanting.  I  was  not  worthy." 

All  at  once  she  felt  a  touch  on  her  arm.  An 
old  woman  who  had  evidently  been  waiting  for 
her  to  come  out  put  a  five-dollar  bill  in  her 
hand.  "I  am  a  poor  woman,  Miss  Shaw,"  she 
said, ' '  but  I  have  all  I  need,  and  I  want  to  make 
you  a  little  present,  for  I  know  how  hard  life 
must  be  for  you  young  students.  I  'm  the  hap- 
piest woman  in  the  world  to-night,  and  I  owe 
my  happiness  to  you.  You  have  converted  my 
grandson,  who  is  all  I  have  left,  and  he  is  go- 
ing to  lead  a  different  life." 

"This  is  the  biggest  gift  I  have  ever  had," 
171 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

cried  Miss  Shaw.  "This  little  bill  is  big 
enough  to  carry  my  future  on  its  back!" 

This  was  indeed  the  turning  point.  Here 
was  enough  for  food  and  shoes,  but  it  was  much 
more  than  that.  It  was  a  sign  that  she  had 
her  place  in  the  great  world.  There  was  need 
of  what  she  could  do,  and  there  could  be  no 
more  doubt  that  her  needs  would  be  met.  Even 
though  she  could  not  see  the  path  ahead  she 
would  never  lose  heart  again. 

The  succeeding  months  brought  not  only  the 
means  to  live  but  also  the  spirit  to  make  the 
most  of  each  day's  living.  "I  graduated  in  a 
new  black  silk  gown,"  she  said,  "with  five  dol- 
lars in  my  pocket,  which  I  kept  there  during 
the  graduation  exercises.  I  felt  special  satis- 
faction in  the  possession  of  that  money,  for, 
notwithstanding  the  handicap  of  being  a 
woman,  I  was  said  to  be  the  only  member  of 
my  class  who  had  worked  during  the  entire 
course,  graduated  free  from  debt,  and  had  a 
new  outfit  as  well  as  a  few  dollars  in  cash." 

Miss  Shaw's  influence  as  a  preacher  may  be 
illustrated  by  a  single  anecdote.  In  the 
months  following  her  graduation  she  went  on  a 

172 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

trip  to  Europe,  a  friend  having  left  her  a 
bequest  for  that  express  purpose.  While  in 
Genoa  she  was  asked  to  preach  to  the  sailors  in 
a  gospel-ship  in  the  harbor;  but  when  she  ap- 
peared it  was  evident  that  the  missionary  in 
charge  had  not  understood  that  the  minister  he 
had  invited  was  a  woman.  He  was  unhappy 
and  apologetic  in  his  introduction,  and  the 
weather-beaten  tars,  in  their  turn,  looked  both 
resentful  and  mocking.  It  was  certainly  a  try- 
ing moment  when  Miss  Shaw  began  to  speak. 
She  had  never  in  her  life  felt  more  forlorn  or 
more  homesick,  when  all  at  once  the  thought 
flashed  through  her  that  back  of  those  un- 
friendly faces  that  confronted  her  there  were 
lonely  souls  just  as  hungry  for  home  as  she 
was.  Impulsively  stepping  down  from  the  pul- 
pit so  that  she  stood  on  a  level  with  her  hear- 
ers, she  said : 

"My  friends,  I  hope  you  will  forget  every- 
thing that  Dr.  Blank  has  just  said.  It  is  true 
that  I  am  a  minister  and  that  I  came  here  to 
preach.  But  now  I  do  not  intend  to  preach — 
only  to  have  a  friendly  talk,  on  a  text  that  is 
not  in  the  Bible.  I  am  very  far  from  home, 

173 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

and  I  feel  as  homesick  as  some  of  you  men  look. 
So  my  text  is,  *  Blessed  are  the  homesick,  for 
they  shall  go  home.  '  ' ' 

Then  out  of  the  knowledge  of  sea-faring 
people  which  she  had  gained  during  summer 
vacations  when  she  had  "filled  in"  for  the  ab- 
sent pastor  of  a  little  church  on  Cape  Cod,  she 
talked  in  a  way  that  went  straight  to  the  hearts 
of  the  rough  men  gathered  there.  "When  she 
saw  that  the  unpleasant  grin  had  vanished 
from  the  face  of  the  hardest  old  pirate  of  them 
all,  she  said:  "When  I  came  here  I  intended 
to  preach  a  sermon  on  "The  Heavenly  Vision.' 
Now  I  want  to  give  you  a  glimpse  of  that  in 
addition  to  the  vision  we  have  had  of  home." 

After  her  return  to  America,  Miss  Shaw  was 
called  as  pastor  to  a  church  at  East  Dennis, 
Cape  Cod,  and  a  few  months  later  she  was 
asked  to  hold  services  at  another  church  about 
three  miles  distant.  These  two  charges  she 
held  for  seven  happy  years,  rich  in  the  oppor- 
tunity for  real  service. 

Feeling  the  need  of  knowing  how  to  minister 
to  the  bodily  needs  of  those  she  labored  among, 
Miss  Shaw  took  a  course  at  the  Boston  Medical 

174 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

School,  going  to  the  city  for  a  part  of  each 
week  and  graduating  with  the  degree  of  M.D. 
in  1885.  When  some  one  who  knew  about  her 
untiring  work  as  leader  and  helper  of  the  peo- 
ple to  whom  she  preached,  asked  her  how  it 
had  been  possible  for  her  to  endure  so  great 
a  strain,  she  replied  cheerfully,  "Congenial 
work,  no  matter  how  much  there  is  of  it,  has 
never  yet  killed  any  one." 

During  the  time  of  her  medical  studies  when 
Miss  Shaw  was  serving  as  volunteer  doctor  and 
nurse  to  the  poor  in  the  Boston  slums,  she  be- 
came interested  in  the  cause  of  woman  suffrage 
— "The  Cause'*  it  was  to  her  always  in  the 
years  that  succeeded.  A  new  day  had  come 
with  new  needs.  She  saw  that  everywhere 
there  were  changed  conditions  and  grave  prob- 
lems brought  about  by  the  entrance  of  women 
into  the  world  of  wage-earners;  and  she  be- 
came convinced  that  only  through  an  under- 
standing and  sharing  of  the  responsibilities  of 
citizenship  by  both  men  and  women  could  the 
best  interests  of  each  community  be  served. 
She,  therefore,  gave  up  her  church  work  on 
Cape  Cod  to  become  a  lecturer  in  a  larger  field. 

175 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

For  a  while  she  devoted  part  of  her  time  to  the 
temperance  crusade  until  that  great  leader  of 
the  woman's  movement,  Susan  B.  Anthony — 
"Aunt  Susan,"  as  she  was  affectionately 
called — persuaded  her  to  give  all  her  strength 
to  the  Cause. 

Without  an  iron  constitution  and  steady 
nerves,  as  well  as  an  unfailing  sense  of  humor, 
she  could  ne^ver  have  met  the  hardships  and 
strange  chances  that  were  her  portion  in  the 
years  that  succeeded.  In  order  to  meet  the 
appointments  of  her  lecture  tours  she  was  con- 
stantly traveling,  often  under  the  most  unto- 
ward circumstances — now  finding  herself  snow- 
bound in  a  small  prairie  town;  now  compelled 
to  cross  a  swollen  river  on  an  uncertain  trestle ; 
now  stricken  with  an  attack  of  ptomaine  poi- 
soning while  "on  the  road,"  with  no  one  within 
call  except  a  switchman  in  his  signal-tower. 

Perhaps  more  appalling  than  any  or  all  of 
these  tests  was  the  occasion  when  she  arrived 
in  a  town  to  find  that  the  lecture  committee  had 
advertised  her  as  "the  lady  who  whistled  be- 
fore Queen  Victoria,"  and  announced  that  she 
would  speak  on  "The  Missing  Link."  When 

176 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

she  ventured  to  protest,  the  manager  remarked 
amiably  that  they  had  "mixed  her  up  with  a 
Shaw  lady  that  whistles." 

"But  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  'miss- 
ing link'!"  continued  Miss  Shaw. 

"Well,  you  see  we  chose  that  subject  because 
they  have  been  talking  about  it  in  the  Debating 
Society,  and  we  knew  it  would  arouse  interest," 
she  was  assured.  "Just  bring  in  a  reference 
to  it  every  now  and  then,  and  it  '11  be  all  right." 

"Open  the  meeting  with  a  song  so  that  I  can 
think  for  a  minute  and  then  I  '11  see  what  can 
be  done,"  said  Miss  Shaw  pluckily.  As  the  ex- 
pectant audience,  led  by  the  chairman,  sang  with 
patriotic  fervor  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner" 
and  "America,"  the  shipwrecked  lecturer  man- 
aged to  seize  a  straw  of  inspiration  that  turned 
in  her  grasp  magically  into  a  veritable  life- 
preserver.  "It  is  easy,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"Woman  is  the  missing  link  in  our  government. 
I  '11  give  them  a  suffrage  speech  along  that 
line." 

Miss  Shaw  has  labored  many  years  for  the 
Cause.  She  worked  with  courage,  dignity,  and 
unfailing  common  sense  and  good  humor,  in  the 

177 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

day  of  small  things  when  the  suffrage  pioneers 
were  ridiculed  by  both  men  and  women  as  a 
band  of  unwomanly  "freaks"  and  fanatics. 
She  has  lived  to  see  the  Cause  steadily  grow  in 
following  and  influence,  and  State  after  State 
(particularly  those  of  the  growing,  progressive 
West)  call  upon  women  to  share  equally  with 
men  many  of  the  duties  of  citizenship  and  social 
service.  She  has  seen  that  in  such  States  there 
is  no  disposition  to  go  back  to  the  old  order  of 
things,  and  that  open-minded  people  freely  ad- 
mit that  it  is  only  a  question  of  time  until  the 
more  conservative  parts  of  the  country  will  fall 
into  line  and  equal  suffrage  become  nation  wide. 

Her  days  have  been  rich  in  happy  work, 
large  usefulness,  and  inspiring  friendships. 
Many  honors  have  been  showered  upon  her 
both  in  her  own  country  and  abroad;  but  she 
has  always  looked  upon  the  work  which  she  has 
been  privileged  to  do  as  making  the  best — and 
the  most  honorable — part  of  her  life. 

Once,  while  attending  a  general  conference 
of  women  in  Berlin,  she  won  the  interest  and 
real  friendship  of  a  certain  Italian  princess, 
who  invited  her  to  visit  at  her  castle  in  Italy 

178 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

and  also  to  go  with  her  to  her  mother's  castle 
in  Austria.  As  Miss  Shaw  was  firm  in  declin- 
ing these  distinguished  honors,  the  princess 
begged  an  explanation. 

" Because,  my  dear  princess,"  Miss  Shaw  ex- 
plained, "I  am  a  working-woman." 

" Nobody  need  know  that,"  murmured  the 
princess,  calmly. 

"On  the  contrary,  it  is  the  first  thing  I 
should  explain,"  was  the  reply. 

"But  why?"  demanded  the  princess. 

"You  are  proud  of  your  family,  are  you 
not?"  asked  Miss  Shaw.  "You  are  proud  of 
your  great  line!" 

"Assuredly,"  replied  the  princess. 

"Very  well,"  continued  Miss  Shaw.  "I  am 
proud,  too.  What  I  have  done  I  have  done  un- 
aided, and,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I  rather  ap- 
prove of  it.  My  work  is  my  patent  of  nobility, 
and  I  am  not  willing  to  associate  with  those 
from  whom  it  would  have  to  be  concealed  or 
with  those  who  would  look  down  upon  it." 

Anna  Howard  Shaw's  autobiography,  which 
she  calls  "The  Story  of  a  Pioneer,"  is  an  ab- 
sorbingly interesting  and  inspiring  narrative. 

179 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

It  gives  with  refreshing  directness  and  whole- 
some appreciation  the  story  of  her  struggles 
and  her  work,  together  with  revealing  glimpses 
of  some  of  her  comrades  in  the  Cause ;  it  is  at 
once  her  own  story  and  the  story  of  the  pioneer 
days  of  the  movement  to  which  she  gave  her  rich 
gifts  of  mind  and  character.  In  conclusion  she 
quotes  a  speech  of  a  certain  small  niece,  who 
was  overheard  trying  to  rouse  her  still  smaller 
sister  to  noble  indifference  in  the  face  of  the 
ridicule  of  their  playmates,  who  had  laughed 
when  they  had  bravely  announced  that  they 
were  suffragettes. 

"Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,"  she  de- 
manded, "to  stop  just  because  you  are  laughed 
at  once?  Look  at  Aunt  Anna!  She  has  been 
laughed  at  for  hundreds  of  years !" 

"I  sometimes  feel,"  added  the  Champion  of 
the  Cause,  "that  it  has  indeed  been  hundreds 
of  years  since  my  work  began;  and  then  again 
it  seems  so  brief  a  time  that,  by  listening  for  a 
moment,  I  fancy  I  can  hear  the  echo  of  my  child- 
ish voice  preaching  to  the  trees  in  the  Michigan 
woods.  But,  long  or  short,  the  one  sure  thing 
is  that,  taking  it  all  in  all,  the  fight  has  been 

180 


ANNA  HOWARD  SHAW 

worth  while.  Nothing  bigger  can  come  to  a 
human  being  than  to  love  a  great  Cause  more 
than  life  itself,  and  to  have  the  privilege 
throughout  life  of  working  for  that  Cause." 


181 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT; 
MARY  ANTIN 


Where  is  the  true  man's  fatherland? 

Is  it  where  he  by  chance  is  born? 

Doth  not  the  yearning  spirit  scorn 
In  such  scant  borders  to  be  spanned? 
0  yes!  his  fatherland  must  be 
As  the  blue  heaven  wide  and  free! 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

YOU  know  the  story  of  "The  Man  without  a 
Country" — the  man  who  lost  his  country 
through  his  own  fault.  Can  you  imagine  what 
it  would  mean  to  be  a  child  without  a  country 
— to  have  no  flag,  no  heroes,  no  true  native  land 
to  which  you  belong  as  you  belong  to  your 
family,  and  which  in  turn  belongs  to  you  ?  How 
would  it  seem  to  grow  up  without  the  feeling 
that  you  have  a  big  country,  a  true  fatherland 
to  protect  your  home  and  your  friends ;  to  build 
schools  for  you;  to  give  you  parks  and  play- 
grounds, and  clean,  beautiful  streets;  to  fight 
disease  and  many  dangers  on  land  and  water 
for  you? —  This  is  the  story  of  a  little  girl  who 
was  born  in  a  land  where  she  had  no  chance  for 
"life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness. " 
Far  from  being  a  true  fatherland,  her  coun- 
try was  like  the  cruel  stepmother  of  the  old 
tales. 

It  was  strange  that  one  could  be  born  in  a 
185 


HEROINES  OP  SERVICE 

country  and  yet  have  no  right  to  live  there! 
Little  Maryashe  (or  Mashke,  as  she  was  called, 
because  she  was  too  tiny  a  girl  for  a  big-sound- 
ing name)  soon  learned  that  the  Russia  where 
she  was  born  was  not  her  own  country.  It 
seemed  that  the  Russians  did  not  love  her  peo- 
ple, or  want  them  to  live  in  their  big  land. 
And  yet  there  they  were!  Truly  it  was  a 
strange  world. 

"Why  is  Father  afraid  of  the  police?"  asked 
little  Mashke.  "He  has  done  nothing  wrong." 

"My  child,  the  trouble  is  that  we  can  do 
nothing  right !"  cried  her  mother,  wringing  her 
hands.  "Everything  is  wrong  with  us.  We 
have  no  rights,  nothing  that  we  dare  to  call  our 
own." 

It  seemed  that  Mashke 's  people  had  to  live  in 
a  special  part  of  the  country  called  the  "Pale 
of  Settlement."  It  was  against  the  law  to  go 
outside  the  Pale  no  matter  how  hard  it  was  to 
make  a  living  where  many  people  of  the  same 
manner  of  life  were  herded  together,  no  mat- 
ter how  much  you  longed  to  try  your  fortune  in 
a  new  place.  It  was  not  a  free  land,  this  Po- 
lotzk  where  she  had  been  born.  It  was  a  prison 

186 


with  iron  laws  that  shut  people  away  from  any 
chance  for  happy  living. 

It  is  hard  to  live  in  a  cage,  be  it  large  or  small. 
Like  a  wild  bird,  the  free  human  spirit  beats  its 
wings  against  any  bars. 

"Why,  Mother,  why  is  it  that  we  must  not  go 
outside  the  Pale?"  asked  Mashke. 

"Because  the  Czar  and  those  others  who  have 
the  power  to  make  the  laws  do  not  love  our  peo- 
ple; they  hate  us  and  all  our  ways,"  was  the 
reply. 

"But  why  do  they  hate  us,  Mother  I"  per- 
sisted the  child  with  big,  earnest  eyes. 

"Because  we  are  different;  because  we  can 
never  think  like  them  and  be  like  them.  Their 
big  Eussia  is  not  yet  big  enough  to  give  people 
of  another  sort  a  chance  to  live  and  be  happy 
in  their  own  way." 

Even  in  crowded  Polotzk,  though,  with  police 
spying  on  every  side,  there  were  happy  days. 
There  were  the  beautiful  Friday  afternoons 
when  Mashke 's  father  and  mother  came  home 
early  from  the  store  to  put  off  every  sign  of  the 
work-a-day  world  and  make  ready  for  the  Sab- 
bath. The  children  were  allowed  to  wear  their 

187 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

holiday  clothes  and  new  shoes.  They  stepped 
about  happily  while  their  mother  hid  the  great 
store  keys  and  the  money  bag  under  her  feather- 
bed, and  the  grandmother  sealed  the  oven  and 
cleared  every  trace  of  work  from  the  kitchen. 

How  Mashke  loved  the  time  of  candle  prayer ! 
As  she  looked  at  the  pure  flame  of  her  candle 
the  light  shone  in  her  face  and  in  her  heart. 
Then  she  looked  at  the  work-worn  faces  of  her 
mother  and  grandmother.  All  the  lines  of  care 
and  trouble  were  smoothed  away  in  the  soft 
light.  They  had  escaped  from  the  prison  of 
this  unfriendly  land  with  its  hard  laws  and  its 
hateful  Pale.  They  were  living  in  the  dim  but 
glorious  Past,  when  their  father 's  fathers  had 
been  a  free  nation  in  a  land  of  their  own. 

But  Mashke  could  not  escape  from  the  prison 
in  that  way.  She  was  young  and  glad  to  be 
alive.  Her  candle  shone  for  light  and  life  to- 
day and  to-morrow  and  to-morrow!  There 
were  no  bars  that  could  shut  away  her  free 
spirit  from  the  light. 

How  glad  she  was  for  life  and  sunlight  on 
the  peaceful  Sabbath  afternoons  when,  holding 
to  her  father's  hand,  she  walked  beyond  the 

188 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

city  streets  along  the  riverside  to  the  place 
where  in  blossoming  orchards  birds  sang  of  the 
joyful  life  of  the  air,  and  where  in  newly  plowed 
fields  peasants  sang  the  song  of  planting-time 
and  the  fruitful  earth.  Her  heart  leaped  as 
she  felt  herself  a  part  of  the  life  that  flowed 
through  all  things — river,  air,  earth,  trees, 
birds,  and  happy,  toiling  people. 

It  seemed  to  Mashke  that  most  of  her  days 
were  passed  in  wondering — wondering  about 
the  strange  world  in  which  she  found  herself, 
and  its  strange  ways.  Of  course  she  played  as 
the  children  about  her  did,  with  her  rag  doll 
and  her  "jacks*'  made  of  the  knuckle  bones  of 
sheep;  and  she  learned  to  dance  to  the  most 
spirited  tune  that  could  be  coaxed  from  the 
teeth  of  a  comb  covered  with  a  bit  of  paper. 
In  winter  she  loved  to  climb  in  the  bare  sledge, 
which  when  not  actively  engaged  in  hauling 
wood  could  give  a  wonderful  joy-ride  to  a  party 
of  happy  youngsters,  who  cared  nothing  that 
their  sleigh  boasted  only  straw  and  burlap  in 
place  of  cushions  and  fur  robes,  and  a  knotted 
rope  in  place  of  reins  with  jingling  bells. 

But  always,  winter  and  summer,  in  season 
189 


HEROINES  OF  SEEVICE 

and  out  of  season,  Mashke  found  herself  won- 
dering about  the  meaning  of  all  the  things  that 
she  saw  and  heard.  She  wondered  about  her 
hens  who  gave  her  eggs  and  broth,  and  feathers 
for  her  bed,  all  in  exchange  for  her  careless 
largess  of  grain.  Did  they  ever  feel  that  the 
barnyard  was  a  prison?  She  wondered  about 
the  treadmill  horse  who  went  round  and  round 
to  pump  water  for  the  public  baths.  Did  he 
know  that  he  was  cheated  out  of  the  true  life  of 
a  horse — work-time  in  cheerful  partnership 
with  man  and  play-time  in  the  pasture  with  the 
fresh  turf  under  his  road-weary  hoofs?  Did 
the  women,  who  toiled  over  the  selfsame  tasks 
in  such  a  weary  round  that  they  looked  forward 
to  the  change  of  wash-day  at  the  river  where 
they  stood  knee-deep  in  the-  water  to  rub  and 
scrub  their  poor  rags,  know  that  they,  too,  were 
in  a  treadmill? —  Sometimes  she  could  not 
sleep  for  wondering,  and  would  steal  from  her 
bed  before  daybreak  to  walk  through  the  dewy 
grass  of  the  yard  and  watch  the  blackness  turn 
to  soft,  dreamy  gray.  Then  the  houses  seemed 
like  breathing  creatures,  and  all  the  world  was 
hushed  and  very  sweet.  Was  there  ever  such 

190 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

a  wonder  as  the  coming  of  a  new  day? —  As 
she  watched  it  seemed  that  her  spirit  flew  be- 
yond the  town,  beyond  the  river  and  the  glow- 
ing sky  itself — touching,  knowing,  and  loving 
all  things.  Her  spirit  was  free ! 

Sometimes  it  seemed  that  the  wings  of  her 
spirit  could  all  but  carry  her  little  body  up  and 
away.  She  was  indeed  such  a  wee  mite  that 
they  sometimes  called  her  Mouse  and  Crumb 
and  Poppy  Seed.  All  of  her  eager,  flaming  life 
was  in  her  questioning  eyes  and  her  dark,  way- 
ward curls.  Because  she  was  small  and  frail 
she  was  spared  the  hard  work  that  early  fell 
to  the  lot  of  her  older,  stronger  sister.  So  it 
happened  that  she  had  time  for  her  wonderings 
— time  for  her  spirit  to  grow  and  try  its  wings. 

Mashke  was  still  a  very  little  child  when  she 
learned  a  very  big  truth.  She  discovered  that 
there  were  many  prisons  besides  those  made  by 
Russian  laws;  she  saw  that  her  people  often 
shut  themselves  up  in  prisons  of  their  own 
making.  There  were  hundreds  of  laws  and  ob- 
servances— ways  to  wash,  to  eat,  to  dress,  to 
work — which  seemed  to  many  as  sacred  as  their 
faith  in  God.  Doubtless  the  rules  which  were 

191 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

now  only  empty  forms  had  once  had  meaning, 
such  as  the  law  forbidding  her  people  to  touch 
fire  on  the  Sabbath,  which  came  down  from  a 
time  before  matches  or  tinder-boxes  when  mak- 
ing a  fire  was  hard  work.  But  all  good  people 
observed  the  letter  of  the  law,  and,  no  matter 
what  the  need  of  mending  a  fire  or  a  light,  would 
wait  for  a  Gentile  helper  to  come  to  the  rescue. 

One  memorable  evening,  however,  Mashke 
saw  her  father,  when  he  thought  himself  unob- 
served, quietly  steal  over  to  the  table  and  turn 
down  a  troublesome  lamp.  The  gleam  of  a  new 
light  came  to  the  mind  of  the  watching,  won- 
dering child  at  that  moment.  She  began  to  un- 
derstand that  even  her  father,  who  was  the 
wisest  man  in  Polotzk,  did  many  things  because 
he  feared  to  offend  the  prejudices  of  their  peo- 
ple, just  as  he  did  many  other  things  because  of 
fear  of  the  Russian  police.  There  was  more 
than  one  kind  of  a  prison. 

When  Mashke  was  about  ten  years  old  a 
great  change  came  to  her  life.  Her  father  de- 
cided to  go  on  a  long  journey  to  a  place  far 
from  Polotzk  and  its  rules  of  life,  far  from 
Russia  and  its  laws  of  persecution  and  death, 

192 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

to  a  true  Promised  Land  where  all  people,  it  was 
said,  no  matter  what  their  nation  and  belief, 
were  free  to  live  and  be  happy  in  their  own 
way.  The  name  of  this  Promised  Land  was 
America.  Some  friendly  people — the  "  emigra- 
tion society,"  her  father  called  them — made 
it  possible  for  him  to  go  try  his  fortune  in  the 
new  country.  Soon  he  would  make  a  home 
there  for  them  all. 

At  last  the  wonderful  letter  came — a  long  let- 
ter, and  yet  it  could  not  tell  the  half  of  his  joy 
in  the  Promised  Land.  He  had  not  found 
riches — no,  he  had  been  obliged  to  borrow  the 
money  for  the  third-class  tickets  he  was  send- 
ing them — but  he  had  found  freedom.  Best  of 
all,  his  children  might  have  the  chance  to  go  to 
school  and  learn  the  things  that  make  a  free 
life  possible  and  worth  while. 

Mashke  found  that  they  had  suddenly  become 
the  most  important  people  in  Polotzk.  All  the 
neighbors  gathered  about  to  see  the  marvelous 
tickets  that  could  take  a  family  across  the  sea. 
Cousins  who  had  not  thought  of  them  for 
months  came  with  gifts  and  pleadings  for  let- 
ters from  the  new  world.  "Do  not  forget  us 

193 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

when  you  are  so  happy  and  grand,"  they  said. 

"You  will  see  my  boy,  my  Moshele,"  cried  a 
poor  mother  again  and  again.  "Ask  him  why 
he  does  not  write  to  us  these  many  months.  If 
you  do  not  find  him  in  Boston  maybe  he  will  be 
in  Balti-moreh.  It  is  all  America." 

The  day  came  at  last  when  every  stool  and 
feather-bed  was  sold,  and  their  clothes  and  all 
the  poor  treasures  they  could  carry  were 
wrapped  in  queer-looking  bundles  ready  to  be 
taken  in  their  arms  to  the  new  home.  All  of 
Polotzk  went  to  the  station  to  wave  gay  hand- 
kerchiefs and  bits  of  calico  and  wish  them  well. 
They  soon  found,  however,  that  the  way  of  the 
emigrant  is  hard.  In  order  to  reach  the  sea 
they  had  to  go  through  Germany  to  Hamburg, 
and  a  fearful  journey  it  proved  to  be.  It  was 
soon  evident  that  the  Russians  were  not  the  only 
cruel  people  in  the  world;  the  Germans  were 
just  as  cruel  in  strange  and  unusual  ways,  and 
in  a  strange  language. 

They  put  the  travelers  in  prison,  for  which 
they  had  a  queer  name,  of  course — "Quaran- 
tine," they  called  it.  They  drove  them  like 
cattle  into  a  most  unpleasant  place,  where  their 

194 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

clothes  were  snatched  off,  their  bodies  rubbed 
with  an  evil,  slippery  substance,  and  their  breath 
taken  away  by  an  unexpected  shower  that  sud- 
denly descended  on  their  helpless  heads. 
Their  precious  bundles,  too,  were  tossed  about 
rudely  and  steamed  and  smoked.  As  the  poor 
victims  sat  wrapped  in  clouds  of  steam  waiting 
for  the  final  agony,  their  clothes  were  brought 
back,  steaming  like  everything  else,  and  some- 
body cried,  "Quick!  Quick!  or  you  will  lose 
your  train ! "  It  seemed  that  they  were  not  to 
be  murdered  after  all,  but  that  this  was  just  the 
German  way  of  treating  people  whom  they 
thought  capable  of  carrying  diseases  about  with 
them. 

Then  came  the  sixteen  days  on  the  big  ship, 
when  Mashke  was  too  ill  part  of  the  time  even 
to  think  about  America.  But  there  were  better 
days,  when  the  coming  of  morning  found  her 
near  the  rail  gazing  at  the  path  of  light  that  led 
across  the  shimmering  waves  into  the  heart  of 
the  golden  sky.  That  way  seemed  like  her  own 
road  ahead  into  the  new  life  that  awaited  her. 

The  golden  path  really  began  at  a  Boston 
public  school.  Here  Mashke  stood  in  her  new 

195 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

American  dress  of  stiff  calico  and  gave  a  new 
American  name  to  the  friendly  teacher  of  the 
primer  class.  Mary  Antin  she  was  called  from 
that  day,  all  superfluous  foreign  letters  being 
dropped  off  forever.  As  her  father  tried  in  his 
broken  English  to  tell  the  teacher  something  of 
his  hopes  for  his  children,  Mary  knew  by  the 
look  in  his  eyes  that  he,  too,  had  a  vision  of  the 
path  of  lighl^.  The  teacher  also  saw  that  glow- 
ing, consecrated  look  and  in  a  flash  of  insight 
comprehended  something  of  his  starved  past 
and  the  future  for  which  he  longed.  In  his  ef- 
fort to  make  himself  understood  he  talked  with 
his  hands,  with  his  shoulders,  with  his  eyes; 
beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  his  earnest 
brow,  and  now  he  dropped  back  helplessly  into 
Yiddish,  now  into  Russian.  "I  cannot  now 
learn  what  the  world  knows ;  I  must  work.  But 
I  bring  my  children — they  go  to  school  for  me. 
I  am  American  citizen ;  I  want  my  children  be 
American  citizens. " 

The  first  thing  was,  of  course,  to  make  a 
beginning  with  the  new  language.  Afterward 
when  Mary  Antin  was  asked  to  describe  the  way 
the  teacher  had  worked  with  her  foreign  class 

196 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

she  replied  with  a  smile,  "I  can't  vouch  for  the 
method,  but  the  six  children  in  my  own  par- 
ticular group  (ranging  in  age  from  six  to  fifteen 
— I  was  then  twelve)  attacked  the  see-the-cat 
and  look-at-the-hen  pages  of  our  primers  with 
the  keenest  zest,  eager  to  find  how  the  common 
world  looked,  smelled,  and  tasted  in  the  strange 
speech,  and  we  learned!"  There  was  a  dread- 
ful time  over  learning  to  say  the  without  making 
a  buzzing  sound;  even  mastering  the  v's  and 
w's  was  not  so  hard  as  that.  It  was  indeed  a 
proud  day  for  Mary  Antin  when  she  could  say 
"We  went  to  the  village  after  water,"  to  her 
teacher's  satisfaction. 

How  Mary  Antin  loved  the  American  speech  1 
She  had  a  native  gift  for  language,  and  gath- 
ered the  phrases  eagerly,  lovingly,  as  one 
gathers  flowers,  ever  reaching  for  more  and 
still  more.  She  said  the  words  over  and  over 
to  herself  with  shining  eyes  as  the  miser  counts 
his  gold.  Soon  she  found  that  she  was  thinking 
in  the  beautiful  English  way.  When  she  had 
been  only  four  months  at  school  she  wrote  a 
composition  on  Snow  that  her  teacher  had 
printed  in  a  school  journal  to  show  this  foreign 

197 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

child's  wonderful  progress  in  the  use  of  the  new 
tongue.    Here  is  a  bit  of  that  composition : 

Now  the  trees  are  bare,  and  no  flowers  are  to  see  in  the 
fields  and  gardens  (we  all  know  why),  and  the  whole  world 
seems  like  a-sleep  without  the  happy  bird  songs  which 
left  us  till  spring.  But  the  snow  which  drove  away  all 
these  pretty  and  happy  things,  try  (as  I  think)  not  to 
make  us  at  all  unhappy;  they  covered  up  the  branches  of 
the  trees,  the  fields,  the  gardens  and  houses,  and  the  whole 
world  looks  like  dressed  in  a  beautiful  white — instead  of 
green — dress,  with  the  sky  looking  down  on  it  with  a 
pale  face.  .  .  .  ^ 

At  the  middle  of  the  year  the  child  who  had 
entered  the  primer  class  in  September  without 
a  word  of  English  was  promoted  to  the  fifth 
grade.  She  was  indeed  a  proud  girl  when  she 
went  home  with  her  big  geography  book  making 
a  broad  foundation  for  all  the  rest  of  the  pile, 
which  she  loved  to  carry  back  and  forth  just 
because  it  made  her  happy  and  proud  to  be 
seen  in  company  with  books. 

4 'Look  at  that  pale,  hollow-chested  girl  with 
that  load  of  books,"  said  a  kindly  passer-by  one 
day.  ' '  It  is  a  shame  the  way  children  are  over- 
worked in  school  these  days." 

The  child  in  question,  however,  would  have 
had  no  basis  for  understanding  the  chance  sym- 

198 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

pathy  had  she  overheard  the  words.  Her  books 
were  her  dearest  joy.  They  were  indeed  in  a 
very  real  sense  her  only  tangible  possessions. 
All  else  was  as  yet  "the  stuff  that  dreams 
are  made  of."  As  she  walked  through  the 
dingy,  sordid  streets  her  glorified  eyes  looked 
past  the  glimpses  of  unlovely  life  about  her  into 
a  beautiful  world  of  her  own.  If  she  felt  any 
weight  from  the  books  she  carried  it  was  just 
a  comfortable  reminder  that  this  new  Mary  An- 
tin  and  the  new  life  of  glorious  opportunity 
were  real. 

When  she  climbed  the  two  flights  of  stairs 
to  her  wretched  tenement  her  soul  was  not  soiled 
by  the  dirt  and  squalor  through  which  she 
passed.  As  she  eagerly  read,  not  only  her 
school  history  but  also  every  book  she  could  find 
in  the  public  library  about  the  heroes  of  Amer- 
ica, she  did  not  see  the  moldy  paper  hanging  in 
shreds  from  the  walls  or  the  grimy  bricks  of 
the  neighboring  factory  that  shut  out  the  sun- 
light. Her  look  was  for  the  things  beyond  the 
moment — the  things  that  really  mattered.  How 
could  the  child  feel  poor  and  deprived  when  she 
knew  that  the  city  of  Boston  was  hers ! 

199 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

As  she  walked  every  afternoon  past  the  fine, 
dignified  buildings  and  churches  that  flanked 
Copley  Square  to  the  imposing  granite  struc- 
ture that  held  all  her  hero  books,  she  walked  as 
a  princess  into  her  palace.  Could  she  not  read 
for  herself  the  inscription  at  the  entrance: 
Public  Library — Built  by  the  People — Free  to 
All — ?  Now  she  stood  and  looked  about  her 
and  said,  "This  is  real.  This  all  belongs  to 
these  wide-awake  children,  these  fine  women, 
these  learned  men — and  to  me" 

Every  nook  of  the  library  that  was  open  to 
the  public  became  familiar  to  her;  her  eyes 
studied  lovingly  every  painting  and  bit  of  mo- 
saic. She  spent  hours  pondering  the  vivid  pic- 
tures by  Abbey  that  tell  in  color  the  mystic  story 
of  Sir  Galahad  and  the  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  spirit  of  all  romance 
was  hers.  She  lingered  in  the  gallery  before 
Sargent's  pictures  of  the  "Prophets,"  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  spirit  of  all  the  beautiful  Sab- 
baths of  her  childhood  stirred  within  her,  as 
echoes  of  the  Hebrew  psalms  awoke  in  her 
memory. 

When  she  went  into  the  vast  reading-room 
200 


©Fall, 


Mary  An  tin 


• 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

she  always  chose  a  place  at  the  end  where,  look- 
ing up  from  her  books,  she  could  get  the  effect 
of  the  whole  vista  of  splendid  arches  and  earnest 
readers.  It  was  in  the  courtyard,  however,  that 
she  felt  the  keenest  joy.  Here  the  child  born 
in  the  prison  of  the  Pale  realized  to  the  full  the 
glorious  freedom  that  was  hers. 

'  *  The  courtyard  was  my  sky-roofed  chamber 
of  dreams,"  she  said.  "Slowly  strolling  past 
the  endless  pillars  of  the  colonnade,  the  foun- 
tain murmured  in  my  ear  of  all  the  beautiful 
things  in  all  the  beautiful  world.  Here  I  liked 
to  remind  myself  of  Polotzk,  the  better  to  bring 
out  the  wonder  of  my  life.  That  I  who  was 
brought  up  to  my  teens  almost  without  a  book 
should  be  set  down  in  the  midst  of  all  the  books 
that  ever  were  written  was  a  miracle  as  great 
as  any  on  record.  That  an  outcast  should  be- 
come a  privileged  citizen,  that  a  beggar  should 
dwell  in  a  palace — this  was  a  romance  more 
thrilling  than  poet  ever  sung.  Surely  I  was 
rocked  in  an  enchanted  cradle." 

As  Mary  Antin's  afternoons  were  made  glori- 
ous by  these  visits  to  the  public  library,  so  her 
nights  were  lightened  by  rare  half -hours  on  the 

203 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

South  Boston  Bridge  where  it  crosses  the  Old 
Colony  Railroad.  As  she  looked  down  at  the 
maze  of  tracks  and  the  winking  red  and  green 
signal  lights,  her  soul  leaped  at  the  thought  of 
the  complex  world  in  which  she  lived  and  the 
wonderful  way  in  which  it  was  ordered  and  con- 
trolled by  the  mind  of  man.  Years  afterward 
in  telling  about  her  dreams  on  the  bridge  she 
said: 

"Then  the^  blackness  below  me  was  split  by 
the  fiery  eye  of  a  monster  engine,  his  breath 
enveloped  me  in  blinding  clouds,  his  long  body 
shot  by,  rattling  a  hundred  claws  of  steel,  and 
he  was  gone.  So  would  I  be,  swift  on  my  right- 
ful business,  picking  out  my  proper  track  from 
the  million  that  cross  it,  pausing  for  no  ob- 
stacles, sure  of  my  goal." 

Can  you  imagine  how  the  child  from  Polotzk 
loved  the  land  that  had  taken  her  to  itself  ?  As 
she  stood  up  in  school  with  the  other  children 
and  saluted  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  the  words 
she  said  seemed  to  come  from  the  depths  of  her 
soul:  "I  pledge  allegiance  to  my  flag  and  to 
the  Republic  for  which  it  stands — one  nation 
indivisible,  with  liberty  and  justice  for  all." 

204 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

Those  were  not  words,  they  were  heart  throbs. 
The  red  of  the  flag  was  not  just  a  bright  color, 
it  was  the  courage  of  heroes ;  the  white  was  the 
symbol  of  truth  clear  as  the  sunlight;  the  blue 
was  the  symbol  of  the  wide,  free  heavens — her 
spirit's  fatherland.  The  child  who  had  been 
born  in  prison,  who  had  repeated  at  every  Pass- 
over, "Next  year,  may  we  be  in  Jerusalem," 
had  found  all  at  once  her  true  country,  her  flag, 
and  her  heroes.  When  the  children  rose  to  sing 
"America,"  she  sang  with  all  the  pent-up  feel- 
ing of  starved  years  of  exile : 

I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills. 

As  the  teacher  looked  into  the  glorified  face 
of  this  little  alien-citizen  she  said  to  herself, 
"There  is  the  truest  patriot  of  them  all!" 

Only  once  as  they  were  singing  "Land  where 
my  fathers  died,"  the  child's  voice  had  faltered 
and  died  away.  Her  cheek  paled  when  at  the 
close  of  school  she  came  to  her  teacher  with  her 
trouble. 

"Oh,  teacher,"  she  mourned,  "our  country's 
song  can't  to  mean  me — my  fathers  didn't  die 
here!" 

205 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

The  friendly  teacher,  whose  understanding 
and  sympathy  were  never  failing,  understood 
now: 

"Mary  Antin,"  she  said  earnestly,  looking 
through  the  child's  great,  dark  eyes  into  the 
depths  of  her  troubled  soul,  "you  have  as  much 
right  to  those  words  as  I  or  anybody  else  in 
America.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers  didn't  all 
come  here  before  the  Revolution.  Isn't  your 
father  just  like  them?  Think  of  it,  dear,  how 
he  left  his  home  and  came  to  a  strange  land 
where  he  couldn't  even  speak  the  language. 
And  didn't  he  come  looking  for  the  same 
things?  He  wanted  freedom  for  himself  and 
his  family,  and  a  chance  for  his  children  to 
grow  up  wise  and  brave.  It 's  the  same  story 
over  again.  Every  ship  that  brings  people 
from  Russia  and  other  countries  where  they  are 
ill-treated  is  a  Mayflower!" 

These  words  took  root  in  Mary  Antin 's  heart 
and  grew  with  her  growth.  The  consciousness 
that  she  was  in  very  truth  an  American  glori- 
fied her  days;  it  meant  freedom  from  every 
prison.  Seven  years  after  her  first  appearance 
in  the  Boston  primer  class  she  entered  Barnard 

206 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PATRIOT 

College.  After  two  years  there  and  two  more 
at  Teachers  College,  she  entered  the  school  of 
life  as  a  homemaker;  her  name  is  now  Mary 
Antin  Grabau.  Besides  caring  for  her  home 
and  her  little  daughter,  she  has  devoted  her 
gifts  as  a  writer  and  a  lecturer  to  the  service  of 
her  country. 

In  her  book,  "The  Promised  Land,"  she  has 
told  the  story  of  her  life  from  the  earliest  mem- 
ories of  her  childhood  in  Eussia  to  the  time 
when  she  entered  college.  It  is  an  absorbing 
human  story,  but  it  is  much  more  than  that. 
It  is  the  story  of  one  who  looks  upon  her  Amer- 
ican citizenship  as  a  great  "spiritual  adven- 
ture," and  who  strives  to  quicken  in  others  a 
sense  of  their  opportunities  and  responsibilities 
as  heirs  of  the  new  freedom.  She  pleads  for  a 
generous  treatment  of  all  those  whom  oppres- 
sion and  privation  send  to  make  their  homes  in 
our  land.  It  is  only  by  being  faithful  to  the 
ideal  of  human  brotherhood  expressed  in  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  that  our  nation 
can  realize  its  true  destiny,  she  warns  us. 

Mary  Antin  was  recently  urged  to  write  a 
history  of  the  'United  States  for  children,  that 

207 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

would  give  the  inner  meaning  of  the  facts  as 
well  as  a  clear  account  of  the  really  significant 
events. 

"I  have  long  had  such  a  work  in  mind,"  she  wrote,  "and 
I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  do  it  some  day.  In  the  mean- 
time I  talk  history  to  my  children — my  little  daughter  of 
eight  and  the  Russian  cousin  who  goes  to  school  in  the 
kitchen.  Only  yesterday  at  luncheon  I  told  them  about 
our  system  of  representative  government,  and  our  pota- 
toes grew  cold  on  our  plates,  we  were  all  so  absorbed." 
^ 

In  all  that  Mary  Antin  writes  and  in  all  that 
she  says  her  faith  in  her  country  and  her  zeal 
for  its  honor  shine  out  above  all  else.  To  the 
new  pilgrims  who  lived  and  suffered  in  other 
lands  before  they  sought  refuge  in  America,  as 
well  as  to  those  who  can  say  quite  literally, 
"Land  where  my  fathers  died,"  she  brings  this 
message : 

"We  must  strive  to  be  worthy  of  our  great 
heritage  as  American  citizens  so  that  we  may 
use  wisely  and  well  its  wonderful  privileges. 
To  be  alive  in  America  is  to  ride  on  the  central 
current  of  the  river  of  modern  life ;  and  to  have 
a  conscious  purpose  is  to  hold  the  rudder  that 
steers  the  ship  of  fate. ' ' 

208 


A  CAMPFIKE  INTERPEETER:    ALICE 
C.  FLETCHER 


Ho  I    All  ye  heavens,  all  ye  of  the  earth, 

I  bid  ye  hear  me! 

Into  your  midst  has  come  a  new  life; 
Consent  ye!     Consent  ye  all,  I  implore! 
Make  its  path  smooth,  then  shall  it  travel 
beyond  the  four   hills. 

Omaha  Tribal  Rite. 
Translated  by  Alice  C.  Fletchei, 


A  CAMPFIEE  INTERPRETER 

A  GREAT  poet  once  tried  to  look  into  the 
future  and  picture  the  kind  of  people 
who  might  some  day  live  upon  the  earth — peo- 
ple wiser  and  happier  than  we  are  because  they 
shall  have  learned  through  our  mistakes  and 
carried  to  success  our  beginnings,  and  so  have 
come  to  understand  fully  many  things  that  we 
see  dimly  as  through  a  mist.  These  people 
Tennyson  calls  the  "crowning  race": 

Of  those  that  eye  to  eye  shall  look 
On  knowledge;  under  whose  command 
Is  Earth  and  Earth's,  and  in  their  hand 
Is  Nature  like  an  open  book. 

You  see  he  believed  that  the  way  to  gain 
command  of  Earth  is  through  learning  to  read 
the  open  book  of  Nature.  That  book  is  closed 
to  most  of  us  to-day,  but  we  are  just  beginning 
to  spell  out  something  of  its  message,  and  as 
we  begin  to  understand  we  feel  that  it  is  not  a 

211 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

strange  speech  but  our  own  true  mother  tongue, 
which  ears,  deafened  by  the  noise  of  the  busy 
world,  have  almost  ceased  to  hear  and  under- 
stand. There  comes  a  time,  however,  when  we 
feel  "the  call  of  the  wild."  We  long  to  get 
away  from  the  hoarse  cries  of  engines,  and  the 
grinding  roar  of  turning  wheels,  to  a  quiet  that 
is  unbroken  even  by  a  passing  motor  horn. 

Have  you  ever  found  yourself  for  a  happy 
half-hour  atane  among  the  great  trees  of  the 
friendly  woods?  You  must  have  felt  that  in 
getting  near  to  Nature  you  were  finding  your- 
self. Did  not  the  life  of  the  trees,  of  the  winged 
creatures  of  the  branches,  of  the  cool  mossy 
ground  itself,  seem  a  part  of  your  life  ? 

Have  you  ever  climbed  a  hill  when  it  seemed 
that  the  wind  was  blowing  something  of  its  own 
strength  and  freshness  into  your  soul?  Did 
you  not  feel  as  if  you  were  mounting  higher  and 
higher  into  the  air  and  lifting  the  sky  with  you  ? 
Have  you  ever  found  yourself  at  evening  in  a 
great  clear  open  place  where  the  tent  of  the 
starry  heavens  over  your  head  seemed  nearer 
than  the  shadowy  earth  and  all  the  things  of  the 
day? 

212 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

This  is  the  story  of  a  girl  who  loved  to  listen 
to  the  deep  chant  of  the  ocean,  to  the  whisper 
of  the  wind  in  the  trees,  and  to  the  silence  in 
the  heart  of  the  hills.  She  came  to  feel  that 
there  was  a  joy  and  a  power  in  the  open — in  the 
big,  free,  unspoiled  haunts  of  furtive  beasts  and 
darting  birds — that  all  the  man-made  wonders 
of  the  world  could  not  give. 

"If  I  am  so  much  happier  and  more  alive," 
she  said  to  herself,  "in  the  days  that  I  spend 
under  the  open  sky,  what  must  it  be  like  always 
to  live  this  freer  life  f  Did  not  the  people  who 
lived  as  Nature's  own  children  in  these  very 
woods  that  I  come  to  as  the  guest  of  an  hour 
or  a  summer,  have  a  wisdom  and  a  strength 
that  our  life  to-day  cannot  win?" 

Again  and  again  the  thought  came  knocking 
at  her  heart :  *  *  The  men  whom  we  call  savages, 
whom  we  have  crowded  out  of  the  land  they 
once  roamed  over  freely,  must  have  learned 
very  much  in  all  the  hundreds  of  years  that 
they  lived  close  to  Nature.  They  could  teach 
us  a  great  deal  that  cannot  be  found  in  books. '  * 

Alice  C.  Fletcher  grew  up  in  a  cultured  New 
England  home.  She  had  the  freedom  of  a  gen- 

213 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

erous  library  and  early  learned  to  feel  that 
great  books  and  wise  men  were  familiar  friends. 
They  talked  to  her  kindly  and  never  frightened 
her  by  their  big  words  and  learned  looks.  She 
looked  through  the  veil  of  words  to  the  living 
meaning. 

She  was,  too,  very  fond  of  music.  Playing 
the  piano  was  more  than  practising  an  elegant 
accomplishment — just  as  reading  her  books  was 
more  than  learning  lessons.  As  the  books 
stirred  her  mind  to  thinking  and  wondering,  so 
the  music  stirred  her  heart  to  feeling  and 
dreaming. 

It  often  seemed,  however,  that  much  that  her 
books  and  music  struggled  in  vain  to  bring  to 
her  within  walls  was  quite  clear  when  she  found 
herself  in  the  large  freedom  of  Nature's  house. 
The  sunshine,  the  blue  sky,  and  the  good,  whole- 
some smell  of  the  brown  earth  seemed  to  give  a 
taste  of  the 

Spontaneous  wisdom  breathed  by  health, 
Truth  breathed  by  cheerfulness. 

Once  in  her  reading  she  came  upon  the  story 
of  the  scholar  who  left  Oxford  and  the  paths 
of  learning  to  follow  the  ways  of  the  wandering 

214 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

gypsies  in  order  that  lie  might  learn  the  natural 
wisdom  they  had  won.  "Ah,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "some  day  when  I  am  free  to  live  my  life 
in  my  own  way  I  shall  leave  my  books  and  go 
out  among  the  Indians.  Our  country  should 
know  what  its  first  children  saw  and  thought  and 
felt.  I  shall  try  to  see  with  their  eyes  and 
hear  with  their  ears  for  a  while  and  I  shall 
discover,  in  that  way,  perhaps,  a  new  world — 
one  that  will  be  lost  forever  when  the  Eed  Men 
are  made  to  adopt  all  the  tricks  and  manners 
of  civilized  life. " 

The  time  came  when  she  found  herself  free 
to  realize  this  dream. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  really  going 
to  live  with  the  Indians?"  her  friends  ex- 
claimed. 

"How  else  can  I  know  them?"  she  replied 
quietly. 

"But  to  give  up  every  necessary  comfort!" 

"There  is  something  perhaps  better  than  just 
making  sure  that  we  are  always  quite  comforta- 
ble," said  Miss  Fletcher.  "Of  course,  I  shall 
miss  easy  chairs  and  cozy  chats,  and  all  the 
lectures,  concerts,  latest  books,  and  daily  papers, 

215 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

but  I  'm  glad  to  find  out  that  all  these  nice 
things  are  not  really  so  necessary  that  they  can 
keep  me  from  doing  a  bit  of  work  that  is  really 
worth  while,  and  which,  perhaps,  needs  just 
what  I  can  bring  to  it." 

At  this  time  Miss  Fletcher's  earnest,  thought- 
ful studies  of  what  books  and  museums  could 
teach  about  the  early  history  of  America  and 
the  interesting  time  before  history,  had  given 
her  a  recognized  place  among  the  foremost 
scholars  of  archeology — the  science  that  reads 
the  story  of  the  forgotten  past  through  the 
relics  that  time  has  spared. 

"Many  people  can  be  found  to  study  the 
things  about  the  Indians  which  can  be  collected 
and  put  in  museums,"  said  Miss  Fletcher,  "but 
there  is  need  of  a  patient,  sympathetic  study 
of  the  people  themselves. ' ' 

In  order  to  make  this  study,  she  spent  not 
only  months  but  years  among  the  Dakota  and 
Omaha  Indians.  From  a  wigwam  made  of  buf- 
falo skins  she  watched  the  play  of  the  children 
and  the  life  of  the  people  and  listened  to  their 
songs  and  stories. 

"The  Indian  is  not  the  stern,  unbending 
216 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

wooden  Indian  that  shows  neither  interest  nor 
feeling  of  any  sort,  as  many  people  have  come 
to  think  of  him,"  said  Miss  Fletcher.  " Those 
who  picture  him  so  have  never  really  known 
him.  They  have  only  seen  the  side  he  turns 
toward  strangers.  In  the  home  and  among 
their  friends  the  Indians  show  fun,  happy  give- 
and-take,  and  warm,  alert  interest  in  the  life 
about  them." 

The  cultivated  New  England  woman  and  dis- 
tinguished scholar  won  their  confidence  because 
of  her  sincerity,  tact,  and  warm  human  sym- 
pathy. She  not  only  learned  their  speech  and 
manners  but  also  the  language  of  their  hearts. 
Her  love  of  Nature  helped  her  to  a  ready  under- 
standing of  these  children  of  Nature  or  Wa- 
konda — as  they  called  the  spirit  of  life  that 
breathes  through  earth  and  sky,  rocks,  streams, 
plants,  all  living  creatures,  and  the  tribes  of 
men.  The  beautiful  ceremony  by  which,  soon 
after  his  birth,  each  Omaha  child  was  presented 
to  the  powers  of  Nature  showed  this  sense  of 
kinship  between  the  people  and  their  world. 
A  priest  of  the  tribe  stood  outside  the  wigwam 
to  which  the  new  life  had  been  sent,  and  with 

217 


right  hand  outstretched  to  the  heavens  chanted 
these  words  in  a  loud  voice : 

Ho,  ye  Sun,  Moon,  Stars,  all  ye  that  move  in  the  heavens, 

I  bid  ye  hear  me! 
Into  your  midst  has  come  a  new  life; 

Consent  ye,  I  implore! 
Make  its  path  smooth,  that  it  may  reach 

The  brow  of  the  first  hill. 

Next  the  forces  of  the  air — winds,  clouds, 
mist,  and  rain — were  called  upon  to  receive  the 
young  child  and  smooth  the  path  to  the  second 
hill.  Then  hills,  valleys,  rivers,  lakes,  trees, 
and  all  growing  things  were  invoked,  after 
which  the  spirits  of  birds,  animals,  and  all  mov- 
ing creatures  were  summoned  to  make  the  path 
smooth  to  the  third  and  fourth  hills.  As  the 
priest  intoned  the  noble  appeal  to  all  the  powers 
of  the  earth  and  air  and  bending  heavens,  even 
those  who  could  not  understand  the  words 
would  know  that  the  four  hills  meant  childhood, 
youth,  manhood,  and  age,  and  that  a  new  life 
was  being  presented  to  the  forces  of  the  uni- 
verse of  which  it  was  a  part.  So  it  was  that 
each  child  was  thought  of  as  belonging  to 
Wakonda — to  the  spirit  of  all  life — before  he 
belonged  to  the  tribe.  For  it  was  not  until  he 

218 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

was  four  or  five  years  old  that  he  gave  up  his 
"baby  name,"  such  as  Bright  Eyes,  Little  Bird, 
or  Baby  Squirrel,  and  was  given  a  real  name 
and  received  into  the  life  of  the  people. 

Miss  Fletcher  soon  became  interested  in  the 
music  of  the  Indians.  Her  trained  ear  told  her 
that*  here  was  something  new.  The  haunting 
bits  of  melody  and  strange  turns  of  rhythm 
were  quite  different  from  any  old-world  tunes. 

"At  first  it  was  very  hard  to  hear  them,"  said 
Miss  Fletcher.  "The  Indians  never  sang  to  be 
heard  by  others.  Their  singing  was  a  spon- 
taneous expression  of  their  feeling — for  the 
most  part,  religious  feeling.  In  their  religious 
ceremonies  the  noise  of  the  dancing  and  of  the 
drums  and  rattles  often  made  it  very  hard  to 
really  catch  the  sound  of  the  voice." 

Day  after  day  she  strove  to  hear  and  write 
down  bits  of  the  music,  but  it  was  almost  like 
trying  to  imprison  the  sound  of  the  wind  in  the 
tree-tops. 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Miss  Fletcher, 
"how  the  old  Saxon  poet  tried  to  explain  the 
jnystery  of  life  by  saying  it  was  like  a  bird  fly- 
ing through  the  windows  of  a  lighted  hall  out 

219 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

of  the  darkness  to  darkness  again?  An  Indian 
melody  is  like  that.  It  has  no  preparations,  no 
beginning.  It  flashes  upon  you  and  is  gone, 
leaving  only  a  teasing  memory  behind." 

While  this  lover  of  music  was  vainly  trying 
to  catch  these  strangely  beautiful  strains  of 
melody,  the  unaccustomed  hardships  of  her  life 
brought  upon  her  a  long  illness.  There  was 
compensation,  however,  for  when  she  could  no 
longer  go  after  the  thing  she  sought  it  came 
to  her.  Her  Indian  friends  who  had  found  out 
that  she  was  interested  in  their  songs  gathered 
about  her  couch  to  sing  them  for  her. 

"So  my  illness  was  after  all  like  many  of 
our  so-called  trials,  a  blessing  in  disguise,'* 
said  Miss  Fletcher.  "I  was  left  with  this 
lameness,  but  I  had  the  music.  The  sigh  had 
become  a  song!" 

You  have,  perhaps,  heard  of  the  great  in- 
terest that  many  learned  people  have  in  the 
songs  and  stories  of  simple  folk — the  folk- 
songs and  folk-tales  of  different  lands.  Did 
you  know  that  Sir  "Walter  Scott 's  first  work  in 
literature  was  the  gathering  of  the  simple  bal- 
lads of  the  Scottish  peasants  which  they  had 

220 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

long  repeated  just  as  you  repeat  the  words  of 
"ring  games'*  learned  from  other  children? 

Did  you  know  that  most  of  the  fairy  stories 
and  hero  tales  that  you  love  were  told  by  peo- 
ple who  had  never  held  a  book  in  their  hands, 
and  were  repeated  ages  and  ages  ago  before 
the  time  of  books?  Just  as  it  is  true  that 
broad,  flowing  rivers  have  their  source  in 
streams  that  well  up  out  of  the  ground,  so  it  is 
true  that  the  literature  of  every  nation  has  its 
source  in  the  fancies  that  have  welled  up  out 
of  the  hearts  and  imaginations  of  the  simple 
people.  The  same  thing  is  true  of  music. 
Great  composers  like  Brahms  and  Liszt  took 
the  wild  airs  of  the  Hungarian  gypsies  and 
made  them  into  splendid  compositions  that  all 
the  world  applauds.  Chopin  has  done  this  with 
the  songs  of  the  simple  Polish  folk.  Dvorak, 
the  great  Bohemian  composer,  has  made  his 
"New  World  Symphony"  of  negro  melodies, 
and  Cadman  and  others  are  using  the  native 
Indian  music  in  the  same  way. 

Just  as  the  Grimm  brothers  went  about 
among  the  German  peasants  to  learn  their  in- 
teresting stories,  just  as  Sir  George  Dasent 

221 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

worked  to  get  the  tales  of  the  Norse,  so  Alice 
Cunningham  Fletcher  worked  to  preserve  the 
songs  and  stories  of  the  Indians.  Others  have 
come  after  her  and  have  gone  on  with  the  work 
she  began,  following  the  trail  she  blazed.  All 
musicians  agree  that  this  native  song  with  its 
fascinating  and  original  rhythms  may  prove 
the  source  of  inspiration  for  American  compos- 
ers of  genius  and  give  rise  to  our  truest  new- 
world  music. 

Much  of  Miss  Fletcher's  work  is  preserved  in 
great  learned  volumes,  such  as  "The  Omaha 
Tribe, ' '  published  by  the  National  Government, 
for  she  wrote  as  a  scientist  for  those  who  will 
carry  on  the  torch  of  science  into  the  future. 
But  realizing  that  the  music  would  mean  much 
to  many  who  cannot  enter  upon  the  problems 
with  which  the  wise  men  concern  themselves, 
she  has  presented  many  of  the  songs  in  a  little 
book  called  "Indian  Story  and  Song.'*  We 
find  there,  for  instance,  the  "Song  of  the 
Laugh"  sung  when  the  brave  young  warrior 
recounts  the  story  of  the  way  he  has  slain  his 
enemy  with  his  own  club  and  so  helped  to  fill 
with  fear  the  foes  of  his  tribe. 

222 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

"We  find,  too,  the  story  of  the  youth  who 
begins  his  life  as  a  man  by  a  lonely  vigil  when 
by  fasting  he  proves  his  powers  of  endur- 
ance. 

The  Omaha  tribal  prayer  is  the  solemn  mel- 
ody that  sounded  through  the  forests  of  Amer- 
ica long  before  the  white  man  came  to  this  coun- 
try— a  cry  of  the  yearning  human  spirit  to 
Wakonda,  the  spirit  of  all  life. 

Try  to  picture  Miss  Fletcher  surrounded  by 
her  Indian  friends,  explaining  to  them  carefully 
all  about  the  strange  machine  before  which  she 
wants  them  to  sing.  For  the  graphophone  was 
a  field  worker  with  her — for  a  time  her  chief 
assistant  in  catching  the  elusive  Indian  songs. 
Perhaps  there  could  have  been  no  greater  proof 
of  their  entire  confidence  in  her  than  their  will- 
ingness to  sing  for  her  again  and  again,  and 
even  to  give  into  the  keeping  of  her  queer  little 
black  cylinders  the  strains  that  voiced  their 
deepest  and  most  sacred  feelings.  For  Indian 
music  is,  for  the  most  part,  an  expression  of 
the  bond  between  the  human  spirit  and  the  un- 
seen powers  of  Nature.  It  must  have  been  that 
they  felt  from  the  first  that  here  was  some  one 

223 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

who  understood  them  because  she,  too,  loved 
the  Nature  they  knew  and  loved. 

While  Miss  Fletcher  was  thus  happily  at 
work  she  became  aware,  however,  that  there 
was  keen  distress  among  these  friends  to  whom 
she  had  become  warmly  attached.  Some  of 
their  neighbors,  the  Ponca  Indians,  had  been 
removed  from  their  lands  to  the  dreaded  "hot 
country'/ — Indian  Territory — and  the  Omaha 
people  feared  that  the  same  thing  might  hap- 
pen to  them,  for  it  was  very  easy  for  unprinci- 
pled white  men  to  take  advantage  of  the 
Indians  who  held  their  lands  as  a  tribe,  not  as 
individuals. 

Always  on  the  frontier  of  settlement  there 
were  bold  adventurers  who  coveted  any  prom- 
ising tracts  of  land  that  the  Indians  possessed. 
They  said  to  themselves,  "We  could  use  this 
country  to  much  better  advantage  than  these 
savages,  therefore  it  should  be  ours."  They 
then  would  encroach  more  and  more  on  the 
holdings  of  the  Indians,  defying  them  by  every 
act  which  said  plainly,  "A  Redskin  has  no 
rights!"  Sometimes  when  endurance  could  go 
no  further  the  Indians  would  rise  up  in  active 

224 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

revolt.  Then  what  more  easy  than  to  cry  out, 
"An  Indian  uprising!  There  will  be  a  massa- 
cre! Send  troops  to  protect  us  from  the  mad 
fury  of  the  savages !"  The  Government  would 
then  send  a  detachment  of  cavalry  to  quell  the 
outbreak,  after  which  it  would  seem  wiser  to 
move  the  Indians  a  little  farther  away  from 
contact  with  the  white  men,  who  now  had  just 
what  they  had  been  working  toward  from  the 
first — the  possession  of  the  good  land. 

Miss  Fletcher  realized  that  the  only  remedy 
for  this  condition  was  for  each  Indian  to  secure 
from  the  Government  a  legal  title  to  a  portion 
of  the  tribal  grant  which  he  might  hold  as  an 
individual.  She  left  her  happy  work  with  the 
music  and  went  to  Washington  to  explain  to 
the  President  and  to  Congress  the  situation  as 
she  knew  it.  The  cause  was,  at  this  time, 
greatly  furthered  by  the  appearance  of  a  book 
by  Helen  Hunt  Jackson,  called  "A  Century  of 
Dishonor,"  an  eloquent  presentation  of  the  In- 
dians' wrongs  and  a  burning  plea  for  justice. 

There  was  need,  however,  of  some  practical 
worker,  who  knew  the  Indians  and  Indian  af- 
fairs intimately,  to  point  to  a  solution  of  the 

225 


problem.  The  conscience  of  the  people  was 
aroused,  but  they  did  not  know  how  it  was  pos- 
sible to  prevent  in  the  future  the  same  sort  of 
wrongs  that  had  made  the  past  hundred  years 
indeed  "a  century  of  dishonor."  Then  the 
resolute  figure  of  Miss  Alice  Fletcher  appeared 
on  the  scene.  She  was  well  known  to  the  gov- 
ernment authorities  for  her  valuable  scientific 
work.  Here  was  some  one  they  knew,  who 
really  could  explain  the  exact  state  of  affairs 
and  who  could  also  interpret  fairly  the  mind  of 
the  Indian.  She  could  be  depended  on  as  one 
who  would  not  be  swayed  by  mere  sentimental 
considerations.  She  would  know  the  practical 
course  to  pursue. 

"Let  the  Indians  hold  their  land  as  the  white 
men  hold  theirs,"  she  said.  "That  is  the  only 
way  to  protect  them  from  wrong  and  to  protect 
the  Government  from  being  a  helpless  partner 
to  the  injustice  that  is  done  them." 

Now,  it  is  one  thing  to  influence  people  who 
are  informed  and  interested  and  quite  another 
to  awaken  the  interest  of  those  who  are  vitally 
concerned  with  totally  different  things.  Miss 
Fletcher  realized  that  if  anything  was  to  be 

226 


Alice  C.  Fletcher 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

actually  accomplished  she  must  leave  no  stone 
unturned  to  bring  the  matter  to  the  attention 
of  those  who  had  not  heretofore  given  a 
thought  to  the  Indian  question  and  the  respon- 
sibility of  the  Government.  She  presented  a 
petition  to  Congress  and  worked  early  and  late 
to  drive  home  to  the  people  the  urgent  need  of 
legislation  in  behalf  of  the  Indians.  She  spoke 
in  clubs,  in  churches,  in  private  houses,  and 
before  committees  in  Congress.  And  actually 
the  busy  congressmen  who  always  feel  that 
there  is  not  half  time  enough  to  consider  meas- 
ures by  which  their  own  States  and  districts 
will  profit,  gave  right  of  way  to  the  Indian 
Land  Act,  and  in  1882  it  became  a  law. 

There  was  the  need  of  the  services  of  some 
disinterested  person  to  manage  the  difficult 
matter  of  dividing  the  tribal  tracts  and  allot- 
ting to  each  Indian  his  own  acres,  and  Miss 
Fletcher  was  asked  by  the  President  to  under- 
take this  work. 

"Why  do  you  trust  Miss  Fletcher  above  any 
one  else?"  asked  President  Cleveland  on  one 
occasion  when  he  was  receiving  a  delegation  of 
Omahas  at  the  White  House. 

229 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

"We  have  seen  her  in  our  homes;  we  have 
seen  her  in  her  home.  We  find  her  always  the 
same,"  was  the  reply. 

The  work  which  Miss  Fletcher  did  in  allot- 
ting the  land  to  the  Omahas  was  so  successfully 
handled  that  she  was  appealed  to  by  the  Gov- 
ernment to  serve  in  the  same  capacity  for  the 
Winnebago  and  Nez  Perce  Indians.  The  law 
whose  passage  was  secured  by  her  zeal  was  the 
forerunner^of  the  Severalty  Act  of  1885  which 
marked  a  change  in  policy  of  the  Government 
and  ushered  in  a  better  era  for  all  the  Indian 
tribes. 

"What  led  you  to  undertake  this  important 
work?"  Miss  Fletcher  was  asked. 

"The  most  natural  desire  in  the  world — the 
impulse  to  help  my  friends  where  I  saw  the 
need,"  she  replied.  "I  did  not  set  out  resolved 
to  have  a  career — to  form  and  to  reform. 
There  is  no  story  in  my  life.  It  has  always 
been  just  one  step  at  a  time — one  thing  which 
I  have  tried  to  do  as  well  as  I  could  and  which 
has  led  on  to  something  else.  It  has  all  been 
in  the  day's  work." 

Miss  Fletcher  has  been  much  interested  in 
230 


ALICE  C.  FLETCHER 

the  work  of  the  Boy  and  Girl  Scouts  and  in  the 
Campfire  Societies,  because  she  feels  that  in 
this  way  many  children  are  brought  to  an  ap- 
preciation of  the  great  out-of-doors  and  win 
health,  power,  and  joy  which  the  life  of  cities 
cannot  give.  For  them  she  has  made  a  collec- 
tion of  Indian  games  and  dances. 

"Just  as  the  spirit  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 
guides  us  through  the  Scottish  lake  country 
and  as  Dickens  leads  us  about  old  London,  so 
the  spirit  of  the  Indians  should  make  us  more 
at  home  in  the  forests  of  America,"  said  Miss 
Fletcher.  "In  sharing  the  happy  fancies  of 
these  first  children  of  America  we  may  win  a 
new  freedom  in  our  possession  of  the  play- 
ground of  the  great  out-of-doors." 


231 


THE  "WHITE  MOTHER"  OF  DARKEST 
AFRICA:  MARY  SLESSOR 


I  am  ready  to  go  anywhere,  provided  it  be  forward. 

DAVID  LIVINGSTONE. 

God  can't  give  His  best  till  we  have  given  ours! 

MARY  SLESSOR. 


THE  "WHITE  MOTHER"  OF  DARKEST 
AFRICA 

AMONG  all  the  weavers  in  the  great  factory 
at  Dundee  there  was  no  girl  more  deft  and 
skilful  than  Mary  Slessor.  She  was  only  eleven 
when  she  had  to  help  shoulder  the  cares  of  the 
household  and  share  with  the  frail  mother  the 
task  of  earning  bread  for  the  hungry  children. 
For  the  little  family  was  worse  than  fatherless. 
The  man  who  had  once  been  a  thrifty,  self-re- 
specting shoemaker  had  become  a  slave  to  drink ; 
and  his  life  was  a  burden  to  himself  and  to 
those  who  were  nearest  and  dearest  to  him. 

"Dinna  cry,  mither  dear,"  Mary  had  said. 
"I  can  go  to  the  mills  in" the  morning  and  to 
school  in  the  afternoon.  It  will  be  a  glad  day, 
earning  and  learning  at  the  same  time ! ' ' 

So  Mary  became  a  "half-timer"  in  the  mills. 
At  six  o'clock  every  morning  she  was  at  work 
.among  the  big  whirling  wheels.  Even  the  walls 
and  windows  seemed  to  turn  sometimes  as  the 

235 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

hot  wind  came  in  her  face  from  the  whizzing 
belts,  and  the  roar  of  the  giant  wheels  filled  all 
her  day  with  din  and  clamor. 

But  as  Mary  worked  week  after  week,  she 
learned  more  than  the  trick  of  handling  the 
shuttle  at  the  moving  loom.  She  learned  how 
to  send  her  thoughts  far  away  from  the  noisy 
factory  to  a  still  place  of  breeze-stirred  trees 
and  golden  sunshine.  Sometimes  a  book,  which 
she  had  placed  on  the  loom  to  peep  in  at  free 
moments,  helped  her  to  slip  away  in  fancy  from 
the  grinding  toil.  What  magic  one  could  find  in 
the  wonderful  world  of  books!  The  wheels 
whirled  off  into  nothingness,  the  walls  melted 
away  like  mist,  and  her  spirit  was  free  to  wan- 
der through  all  the  many  ways  of  the  wide 
world.  And  so  it  was  that  she  went  from  the 
hours  of  work  and  earning  to  the  hours  of  study 
and  learning  with  a  blithe,  morning  face,  her 
brave  soul  shining  through  bright  eager  eyes. 

"When  we  're  all  dragged  out,  and  feel  like 
grumbling  at  everything  and  nothing  seems  of 
any  use  at  all,  Mary  Slessor  is  still  up  and  com- 
ing, as  happy  as  a  cricket, "  said  one  of  the  girls 
who  worked  by  her  side.  '  *  She  makes  you  take 

236 


MAEY  SLESSOR 

heart  in  spite  of  yourself,  and  think  it  's  some- 
thing to  be  glad  over  just  to  be  living  and  work- 
ing." 

"It  's  wonderful  the  way  your  hand  can  go 
on  with  the  shuttle  and  do  the  turn  even  better 
than  you  could  if  you  stopped  to  take  thought,7' 
Mary  would  explain.  "That  leaves  your  mind 
free  to  go  another  way.  Now  this  morning  I 
was  not  in  the  weaving  shed  at  all;  I  was  far 
away  in  Africa,  seeing  all  the  strange  sights  the 
missionary  from  Calabar  told  us  about  last 
night  at  meeting." 

Heaven  was  very  near  to  Mary  Slessor,  and 
the  stars  seemed  more  real  than  the  street 
lamps  of  the  town.  She  had  come  to  feel  that 
the  troubles  and  trials  of  her  days  were  just 
steps  on  the  path  that  she  would  travel.'  Al- 
ways she  looked  past  the  rough  road  to  the  end 
of  the  journey  where  there  was  welcome  in  the 
Father's  house  for  all  His  tired  children. 
There  was,  moreover,  one  bit  of  real  romance 
in  that  gray  Scotch  world  of  hers.  The  thrill 
of  beauty  and  mystery  and  splendid  heroism 
was  in  the  stories  that  the  missionaries  told  of 
Africa,  the  land  of  tropical  wonders — pathless 

237 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

forests,  winding  rivers  under  bending  trees, 
bright  birds,  and  brighter  flowers — and  people, 
hundreds  of  black  people,  with  black  lives  be- 
cause the  light  of  truth  had  never  shone  in  their 
world.  She  knew  that  white  people  who  called 
themselves  Christians  had  gone  there  to  carry 
them  away  for  slaves ;  and  to  get  their  palm-oil 
and  rubber  and  give  them  rum  in  exchange — 
rum  that  was  making  them  worse  than  the  wild 
beasts  of  the  jungle.  How  Mary  Slessor  longed 
to  be  one  to  carry  the  good  news  of  a  God  of 
Love  to  those  people  who  lived  and  died  in  dark- 
ness! " Somebody  must  help  those  who  can't 
help  themselves!"  she  said  to  herself. 

"The  fields  are  ripe  for  the  harvest  but  the 
laborers  are  few,"  one  of  the  missionaries  had 
said.  "We  fear  the  fever  and  other  ills  that 
hide  in  the  bush  more  than  we  fear  to  fail  in 
God's  service.  Men  have  gone  to  these  people 
to  make  money  from  the  products  of  their  land ; 
they  have  bought  and  sold  the  gifts  of  their 
trees;  they  have  bought  and  sold  the  people 
themselves ;  they  are  selling  them  death  to-day 
in  the  strong  drink  they  send  there.  Is  there 
no  one  who  is  willing  to  go  to  take  life  to  these 

238 


MARY  SLESSOR 

ignorant  children  who  have  suffered  so  many 
wrongs?" 

These  words  sank  deep  into  Mary  Slessor's 
heart.  But  it  was  plain  that  her  mission  was 
to  the  little  home  in  Dundee.  She  was  working 
now  among  the  turning  wheels  all  day  from  six 
until  six,  and  going  to  school  in  the  evening; 
but  she  found  time  to  share  with  others  the  se- 
cret of  the  joy  that  she  had  found,  the  light  that 
had  made  the  days  of  toil  bright.  The  boys 
that  came  to  her  class  in  the  mission  school 
were  "toughs"  from  the  slums  of  the  town, 
but  she  put  many  of  them  on  the  road  to  use- 
ful, happy  living.  Her  brave  spirit  won  them 
from  their  fierce  lawlessness ;  her  patience  and 
understanding  helped  to  bring  out  and  fortify 
the  best  that  was  in  them. 

Once  a  much-dreaded  "gang"  tried  to  break 
up  the  mission  with  a  battery  of  mud  and  jeers. 
When  Mary  Slessor  faced  them  quietly,  the 
leader,  boldly  confronting  her,  swung  a  leaden 
weight  which  hung  suspended  from  a  cord, 
about  her  head  threateningly.  It  came  nearer 
and  nearer  until  it  grazed  her  temple,  but  the 
mission  teacher  never  flinched.  Her  eyes  still 

239 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

looked  into  those  of  the  boy's — bright,  un- 
troubled, and  searching.  His  own  dropped, 
and  the  missile  fell  forgotten  to  the  ground. 

"She  's  game,  boys!"  he  cried,  surprised  out 
of  himself. 

And  the  unruly  mob  filed  into  the  mission  to 
hear  what  the  "game"  lady  had  to  say.  Mary 
Slessor  had  never  heard  of  the  poet,  Horace ; 
but  she  had  put  to  the  proof  the  truth  of  the 
well-knowii  lines,  which  declare  that  1 1  the  man 
whose  life  is  blameless  and  free  from  evil  has 
no  need  of  Moorish  javelins,  nor  bow,  nor 
quiver  full  of  poisoned  arrows. ' ' 

As  in  her  work  with  the  wild  boys  of  the 
streets,  so  in  her  visits  to  the  hopeless  people 
of  the  dark  tenements,  Mary  Slessor  was  a  pow- 
erful influence  because  she  entered  their  world 
as  one  of  them,  with  a  faith  in  the  better  self  of 
each  that  called  into  new  life  his  all-but-extin- 
guished longing  for  better  things. 

"As  she  sat  by  the  fire  holding  the  baby  and 
talking  cheerily  about  her  days  at  the  mills 
and  the  Sabbath  morning  at  chapel,  it  seemed 
as  if  I  were  a  girl  again,  happy  and  hopeful  and 
ready  to  meet  whatever  the  morrow  might 

240 


bring,"  said  a  discouraged  mother  to  whom 
Mary  had  been  a  friend  in  need. 

"It  is  like  hearing  the  kirk-bells  on  a  Sunday 
morning  at  the  old  home,  hearing  your  voice, 
Mary  Slessor,"  said  a  poor  blind  woman  to 
whom  Mary  had  brought  the  light  of  restored 
faith. 

For  fourteen  years  this  happy  Scotch  girl 
worked  in  the  factory  for  ten  hours  each  day, 
and  shared  her  evenings  and  Sundays  with  her 
neighbors  of  the  mission.  Besides,  she  seized 
moments  by  the  way  for  study  and  reading. 
Her  mind  was  hungry  to  understand  the  mean- 
ing of  life  and  the  truths  of  religion.  One  day, 
in  order  to  find  out  the  sort  of  mental  food  she 
craved,  a  friend  lent  her  Carlyle's  "Sartor  Ke- 
sartus." 

"How  are  you  and  Carlyle  getting  on  to- 
gether ?"  he  asked  quizzically  when  they  next 
met. 

"It  is  grand !"  she  replied  with  earnest  en- 
thusiasm. "I  sat  up  reading  it,  and  was  so 
interested  that  I  did  not  know  what  the  time 
was  until  I  heard  the  factory  bells  calling  me 
to  work  in  the  morning." 

241 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

Thus  her  mind  was  growing  and  expanding, 
while  her  spirit  grew  through  faithful  work 
and  loyal  service.  Her  simple,  direct  speech 
had  an  eloquent  appeal  that  went  straight  to 
the  heart.  In  spite  of  an  unconquerable  timid- 
ity that  made  her  shrink  from  platform  ap- 
pearances, her  informal  addresses  had  wide 
influence.  Once  she  rose  in  her  place  at  a  pub- 
lic meeting  and  gave  a  quiet  talk  on  the  words : 
The  common  people  heard  him  gladly.  l '  And, ' ' 
it  was  said,  "the  common  people  heard  her 
gladly,  and  crowded  around,  pleading  with  her 
to  come  again." 

In  1874,  when  every  one  was  stirred  by  the 
death  of  David  Livingstone,  Mary  Slessor's 
life  was  transfigured  by  a  great  resolve.  The 
years  had  brought  changes.  Her  father  was 
dead,  and  her  sisters  were  old  enough  to  share 
the  burden  of  supporting  the  family. 

"The  time  has  come  for  me  to  join  the  band 
of  light-bearers  to  the  Dark  Continent,"  said 
Mary,  with  a  conviction  that  overcame  every 
obstacle.  "It  is  my  duty  to  go  where  the  labor- 
ers are  few.  Besides,  there  must  be  a  way  to 
work  there  and  send  help  to  mother  at  home. ' ' 

242 


MARY  SLESSOE 

She  knew  that  the  missionaries  were  given  a 
stipend  to  support  them  in  the  manner  of  the 
country  from  which  they  came.  "I  shall  as 
far  as  possible  live  on  the  food  of  the  country," 
she  said.  "It  may  be  that  by  sharing  to  a 
greater  extent  the  conditions  of  life  of  the  peo- 
ple, I  can  come  to  a  fuller  understanding  of 
them  and  they  of  me.  Besides,  it  will  not  be 
so  hard  to  leave  home  if  I  can  feel  that  I  am 
still  earning  something  for  mother." 

So  Mary  Slessor  went,  after  a  few  months  of 
special  preparation  to  teach  the  natives  of  Cal- 
abar. She  was  at  this  time  twenty-eight  years 
old.  Ever  since  she  was  a  mere  slip  of  a  girl, 
she  had  longed  to  serve  in  that  most  discour- 
aging of  fields — "the  slums  of  Africa,"  it 
was  called.  The  people  who  inhabited  that 
swampy,  equatorial  region  were  the  most 
wretched  and  degraded  of  all  the  negro  tribes. 
They  had  for  ages  been  the  victims  of  stronger 
neighbors,  who  drove  them  back  from  the  drier 
and  more  desirable  territory  that  lay  farther 
inland;  and  of  their  own  ignorance  and  super- 
stitions, which  were  at  the  root  of  their  blood- 
thirsty, savage  customs. 

243 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

It  was  in  September,  1876,  that  the  vessel 
Ethiopia  sailed  out  of  the  clean,  blue  Atlantic 
into  the  mud-colored  Calabar  River.  At  its 
prow  stood  Mary  Slessor,  gazing  soberly  at  the 
vast  mangrove  swamps  and  wondering  about 
the  unknown,  unexplored  land  beyond,  where 
she  should  pitch  her  tent  and  begin  her  work. 
Though  white  men  had  for  centuries  come  to 
the  coast  to  trade  for  gold  dust,  ivory,  palm  oil, 
spices,  and  slaves,  they  had  never  ventured  in- 
land, and  the  natives  who  lived  near  the  shore 
had  sought  to  keep  the  lion's  share  of  the  profit 
by  preventing  the  remoter  tribes  from  coming 
with  their  goods  to  barter  directly  with  the  men 
of  the  big  ships.  So  only  a  few  miles  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Calabar  River  was  a  land  where 
white  people  had  never  gone,  whose  inhabitants 
had  never  seen  a  white  face.  It  was  to  this 
place  of  unknown  dangers  that  Mary  Slessor 
was  bound. 

For  a  time  she  remained  at  the  mission  set- 
tlement to  learn  the  language,  while  teaching 
in  the  day  school.  As  soon  as  she  gained  suf- 
ficient ease  in  the  use  of  the  native  speech,  she 
began  to  journey  through  the  bush,  as  the  trop- 

244 


MARY  SLESSOR 

ical  jungles  of  palms,  bananas,  ferns,  and  thick 
grass  were  called.  Her  heart  sang  as  she  went 
along,  now  wading  through  a  spongy  morass 
bright  with  orchids,  now  jumping  over  a 
stream  or  the  twisted  roots  of  a  giant  tree. 
After  the  chill  grayness  of  her  Scottish  country, 
this  land  seemed  at  first  a  veritable  paradise  of 
golden  warmth,  alluring  sounds  and  scents,  and 
vivid  color.  Now  she  paused  in  delight  as  a 
brilliant  bird  flashed  through  the  branches 
overhead ;  now  she  went  on  with  buoyant  step, 
drinking  in  the  tropical  fragrance  with  every 
breath.  Surely  so  fair  a  land  could  not  be  so 
deadly  as  it  was  said.  She  must  keep  well  for 
the  task  that  lay  before  her.  She  could  not 
doubt  that  each  day  would  bring  strength  for 
the  day's  work. 

With  two  or  three  of  the  boys  from  the  Cal- 
abar school  as  guides,  she  made  the  journey  to 
some  of  the  out-districts.  Here  a  white  face 
was  a  thing  of  wonder  or  terror.  The  children 
ran  away  shrieking  with  fear;  the  women 
pressed  about  her,  chattering  and  feeling  her 
clothing  and  her  face,  to  see  if  she  were  real. 
At  first  she  was  startled,  but  she  soon  divined 

245 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

that  this  was  just  the  beginning  of  friendly  ac- 
quaintance. 

Miss  Slessor  soon  showed  an  astonishing 
mastery  of  the  language,  and  an  even  more 
amazing  comprehension  of  the  minds  of  the 
people.  She  realized  that  the  natives  were  not 
devoid  of  ideas  and  beliefs,  but  that,  on  the  co^ 
trary,  certain  crude  conceptions,  strongly 
rooted  through  the  custom  and  tradition  of 
ages,  accounted  for  many  of  their  horrible 
practices.  They  put  all  twin  babies  to  death 
because  they  believed  that  one  of  them  was  a 
demon-child  whose  presence  in  a  tribe  would 
bring  untold  harm  on  the  people.  They  tor- 
tured and  murdered  helpless  fellow  creatures, 
not  wantonly,  but  because  they  believed  that 
their  victims  had  been  bewitching  a  suffering 
chief — for  disease  was  a  mysterious  blight, 
caused  by  the  * '  evil  eye "  of  a  malicious  enemy. 
When  a  chief  died  many  people  were  slaught- 
ered, for  of  course  he  would  want  slaves  and 
companions  in  the  world  of  spirits. 

It  was  wonderful  the  way  Mary  Slessor  was 
able  to  move  about  among  the  rude,  half -naked 

246 


MARY  SLESSOB 

savages  as  confidently  as  she  had  among  her 
people  in  Scotland,  looking  past  the  dirt  and 
ugliness  to  the  human  heart  beneath,  tortured 
by  fear  or  grief,  and  say  a  word  that  brought 
hope  and  comfort.  She  feared  neither  the 
crouching  beasts  of  the  jungle  nor  the  treach- 
erous tribes  of  the  scattered  mud  villages. 
Picking  her  way  over  the  uncertain  bush  trails, 
she  carried  medicine,  tended  the  sick,  and  spoke 
words  of  sympathy  and  cheer  to  the  distressed. 
Sometimes  she  stayed  away  over  several  nights, 
when  her  lodging  was  a  mud  hut  and  her  bed 
a  heap  of  unpleasant  rags. 

The  people  soon  learned  that  her  interest 
went  beyond  teaching  and  preaching  and  giving 
aid  to  the  sick.  She  cared  enough  for  their 
welfare  to  lead  them  by  night  past  the  sentries 
of  the  jealous  coast  tribes  to  the  factory  near 
the  beach,  where  they  could  dispose  of  their 
palm  oil  and  kernels  to  their  own  profit.  She 
won  in  this  way  the  good  will  of  the  traders 
who  said: 

"There  is  a  missionary  of  the  right  sort! 
She  will  accomplish  something  because  she  is 

247 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

taking  hold  of  all  the  problems  that  concern 
her  people,  and  is  working  systematically  to  im- 
prove all  the  conditions  of  their  lives. '  ' 

One  day  she  set  forth  on  a  trip  of  thirty  miles 
along  the  river  to  visit  the  village  of  a  chief 
named  Okon,  who  had  sent  begging  her  to  come. 
A  state  canoe,  which  was  lent  by  King  Eyo  of 
Calabar,  had  been  gaily  painted  in  her  honor, 
and  a  canopy  of  matting  to  shield  her  from  the 
sun  and  dew  had  been  thoughtfully  erected  over 
a  couch  of  rice  bags.  Hours  passed  in  the  ten- 
der formalities  of  farewell,  and  when  the  pad- 
dlers  actually  got  the  canoe  out  into  the  stream 
it  was  quite  dark.  The  red  gleam  of  their 
torches  fell  upon  venomous  snakes  and  alliga- 
tors, but  there  was  no  fear  while  her  compan- 
ions beat  the  "tom-tom"  and  sang,  as  they 
plied  their  paddles,  loud  songs  in  her  praise, 
such  as : 

"M.&,  our  beautiful,  beloved  mother  is  on  board ! 
Ho!  Ho!  Ho!" 

Such  unwonted  clamor  no  doubt  struck  terror 
to  all  the  creatures  with  claws  and  fangs  along 
the  banks. 

248 


MARY  SLESSOE 

After  ten  hours'  paddling,  she  arrived  at 
Okon's  village.  A  human  skull  stuck  on  a  pole 
was  the  first  sight  that  greeted  her.  Crowds 
gathered  about  to  stare  and  touch  her  hand  to 
make  sure  that  she  was  flesh  and  blood.  At 
meal  times  a  favored  few  who  were  permitted 
to  watch  her  eat  and  drink  ran  about,  excitedly 
reporting  every  detail  to  their  friends. 

For  days  she  went  around  giving  medicines, 
bandaging,  cutting  out  garments,  and  teaching 
the  women  the  mysteries  of  sewing,  washing, 
and  ironing.  In  the  evenings  all  the  people 
gathered  about  her  quietly  while  she  told  them 
about  the  God  she  served — a  God  of  love,  whose 
ways  were  peace  and  lovingkindness.  At  the 
end  they  filed  by,  wishing  her  good  night  with 
much  feeling  before  they  disappeared  into  the 
blackness  of  the  night. 

These  new  friends  would  not  permit  her  to 
walk  about  in  the  bush  as  she  had  been  used  to 
doing.  There  were  elephants  in  the  neighbor- 
ing jungle,  they  said.  The  huge  beasts  had 
trampled  down  all  their  growing  things,  so  that 
they  had  to  depend  mainly  on  fishing.  One 
morning,  on  hearing  that  a  boa  constrictor  had 

249 


been  seen,  bands  of  men  armed  with  clubs  and 
muskets  set  off,  yelling  fearsomely,  to  hunt  the 
common  enemy.  But  more  terrible  to  Mary 
Slessor  than  any  beast  of  prey  were  the  skulls, 
horrible  images,  and  offerings  to  ravenous 
spirits,  that  she  saw  on  every  side.  How  was 
it  possible  to  teach  the  law  of  love  to  a  people 
who  had  never  known  anything  but  the  tyranny 
of  fear? 

"I  must  learn  something  of  the  patience  of 
the  Creator  of  all,"  she  said  to  herself  again 
and  again.  "For  how  long  has  He  borne  with 
the  sins  and  weakness  of  His  poor  human  chil- 
dren, always  caring  for  us  and  believing  that 
we  can  grow  into  something  better  in  spite  of 
all!" 

After  two  weeks  in  "Elephant  Country," 
Miss  Slessor  made  ready  to  return  to  the  mis- 
sion. Rowers,  canoe,  and  baggage  were  in 
readiness,  and  a  smoking  pot  of  yams  and  herbs 
cooked  in  palm  oil  was  put  on  board  for  the 
evening  meal.  Scarcely  had  they  partaken, 
however,  when  Mary  saw  that  the  setting  sun 
was  surrounded  by  angry  clouds,  and  her  ear 

250 


MARY  SLESSOR 

caught  the  ominous  sound  of  the  wind  wailing 
in  the  tree-tops. 

"We  are  coming  into  a  stormy  night,"  she 
said  fearfully  to  Okon,  who  was  courteously 
escorting  the  party  back  to  Old  Town. 

The  chief  lifted  his  black  face  to  the  black 
sky  and  scanned  the  clouds  solemnly.  Then  he 
hastily  steered  for  a  point  of  land  that  lay 
sheltered  from  the  wind.  Before  they  could 
reach  the  lee  side,  however,  the  thunder  broke, 
and  the  wild  sweep  of  the  wind  seized  the 
canoe  and  whirled  it  about  like  a  paper  toy. 
Crew  and  chief  alike  were  helpless  from  terror 
when  Mary  took  her  own  fear  in  hand  and  or- 
dered the  rowers  to  make  for  the  tangle  of 
trees  that  bordered  the  bank.  The  men  pulled 
together  with  renewed  hope  and  strength  until 
the  shelter  of  the  bush  was  reached.  Then 
springing  like  monkeys  into  the  overhanging 
branches,  they  held  on  to  the  canoe  which  was 
being  dashed  up  and  down  like  a  straw.  The 
"White  Mother, "  who  was  sitting  in  water  to 
her  knees  and  shaking  with  ague,  calmed  the 
fears  of  the  panic-stricken  children  who  had 

251 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

buried  their  faces  in  her  lap,  and  looked  about 
in  awed  wonder  at  the  weird  beauty  of  the 
scene.  The  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  shattered 
the  darkness  with  each  peal  of  thunder,  reveal- 
ing luxuriant  tropical  vegetation  rising  above 
the  lashed  water,  foaming  and  hissing  under  the 
slanting  downpour  of  the  rain,  and  the  tossing 
canoe  with  the  crouching,  gleaming-wet  figures 
of  the  frightened  crew. 

This  was^but  one  of  many  thrilling  adven- 
tures that  filled  the  days  of  the  brave  young 
missionary.  When  the  appeal  came,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  time  of  midday  heat  or  midnight 
blackness,  she  was  ready  to  journey  for  hours 
through  the  bush  to  bring  succor  and  comfort. 

Once  the  news  came  that  the  chief  of  a  vil- 
lage had  been  seized  by  a  mysterious  illness. 
Knowing  that  this  would  mean  torture,  and 
death,  perhaps,  to  those  suspected  of  having  en- 
viously afflicted  him  by  the  "evil  eye,"  she  set 
off  along  the  trail  through  the  dense  forest  to 
use  all  her  influence  to  save  the  unfortunate 
victims. 

"But,  Ma,"  the  people  would  protest,  "you 
don't  understand.  If  you  god-people  not  pun- 

252 


Courtly  of  George  B.  Doran  Company 

Mary  Slessor 


MARY  SLESSOB 

ish  evil,  bad  ones  say,  *  God-ways  no  good!' 
Bad  ones  go  round  cast  spells  with  no  fear. 
No  one  safe  at  all." 

Of  all  their  superstitious  fears,  the  horror  of 
twin  babies  was  the  most  universal.  With 
great  difficulty  Miss  Slessor  managed  to  save  a 
few  of  these  unfortunate  infants.  At  first 
some  of  the  people  refused  to  come  into  the 
hut  where  a  twin  child  was  kept ;  but  when  they 
saw  that  no  plague  attacked  the  place  or  the 
rash  white  "Ma,"  they  looked  upon  her  with  in- 
creased respect.  The  "White  Mother"  must 
have  a  power  much  greater  than  that  of  the 
witch-doctors. 

The  witch-doctors  knew  a  great  deal,  no 
doubt.  When  a  man  had  a  tormented  back  they 
could  tell  what  enemy  had  put  a  spell  on  him. 

"Oh,  yes,  Ma,  the  witch-doctor  he  knows," 
declared  a  chief  who  was  suffering  with  an  ab- 
scess, "just  see  all  those  claws,  teeth,  and  bones 
over  there.  He  took  them  all  out  of  my  back. ' ' 

But  if  "Ma"  did  not  understand  about  such 
spells,  she  had  a  wonderful  magic  of  her  own ; 
she  knew  soothing  things  to  put  on  the  be- 
witched back  that  could  drive  the  pain  away 

255 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

and  make  it  well.  The  influence  of  the  healer 
was  often  stronger  than  the  influence  of  the 
witch-doctor  and  the  superstitious  fears  of  all 
the  tribe.  Again  and  again  her  will  prevailed 
in  the  palaver,  and  the  chie£  to  please  her 
would  spare  the  lives  of  those  who  should  by 
every  custom  of  the  land  be  put  to  death. 

"Ma"  required  strange  things  of  them,  but 
she  was  the  best  friend  they  had  ever  had. 
When  she  stood  up  before  them  and  spoke  so 
movingly  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  talk  the 
heart  right  out  of  the  sternest  savage  of  them 
all !  She  made  them  forget  the  things  that  they 
had  known  all  their  lives.  Who  would  have 
believed  that  they  would  even  dream  of  allow- 
ing a  chief's  son  to  go  unattended  into  the 
spirit- world  I  Yet  when  she  begged  them  to 
spare  the  lives  of  the  slaves  who  should  have 
been  sent  with  him,  they  had  at  last  consented. 
And  it  did  n't  take  a  witch-doctor  to  tell  one  that 
a  twin-child  should  never  be  allowed  to  live  and 
work  its  demon  spells  in  the  world.  Still  they 
allowed  her  to  save  some  of  them  alive.  It  was 
said  that  prudent  people  had  even  gone  into  the 
room  where  the  rescued  twins  were  kept  and 

256 


MARY  SLESSOR 

had  touched  them  without  fear.  They  had  been 
almost  persuaded  that  those  queerly  born  babies 
were  just  like  other  children! 

The  "White  Mother"  of  Calabar  always  had 
a  family  of  little  black  waifs  that  she  had  res- 
cued from  violent  death  or  neglect.  Besides 
the  unfortunate  twins,  there  were  the  children 
whose  slave  mothers  had  died  when  they  were 
tiny  infants.  "Nobody  has  time  to  bring  up  a 
child  that  will  belong  to  somebody  else  as  soon 
as  it  is  good  for  something,"  it  was  said.  So 
the  motherless  children  were  left  in  the  bush 
to  die. 

Mary  Slessor  loved  her  strange  black  brood 
tenderly.  "Baby  things  are  always  gentle  and 
lovable,"  she  used  to  say.  "These  children 
who  have  had  right  training  from  the  beginning 
will  grow  up  to  be  leaders  and  teachers  of  their 
people." 

For  twelve  years  Miss  Slessor  worked  in  con- 
nection with  the  established  mission  at  Calabar, 
journeying  about  to  outlying  villages  as  the 
call  came.  It  had  for  long  been  her  dream, 
however,  to  go  still  farther  inland  to  the  wild 
Okolong  tribe  whose  very  name  was  a  terror 

257 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

throughout  the  land.  Her  mother  and  her  sis- 
ter Janie,  who  together  made  "home"  for  her, 
had  died. 

"There  is  no  one  to  write  and  tell  all  my 
stories  and  troubles  and  nonsense  to,"  she  said. 
"But  Heaven  is  now  nearer  to  me  than  Britain, 
and  nobody  will  be  anxious  about  me  if  I  go  up 
country.  ' ' 

In  King  Eyo's  royal  canoe  she  made  the  jour- 
ney to  the  strange  people.  Leaving  the  pad- 
dlers,  who  were  mortal  enemies  to  the  Okoyong 
tribe,  at  the  water's  edge,  she  made  her  way 
along  the  jungle  trail  to  a  village  four  miles 
inland.  Here  the  people  crowded  about  her 
greatly  excited.  They  called  her  "Mother," 
and  seemed  pleased  that  she  had  come  to  them 
without  fear.  The  chief,  Edem,  and  his  sister, 
Ma  Eame,  received  her  in  a  friendly  fashion. 
Her  courage,  frankness,  and  ready  understand- 
ing won  favor  from  the  beginning. 

"May  I  have  ground  for  a  schoolhouse  and 
a  home  with  you  here?"  she  asked.  "Will  you 
have  me  stay  as  your  friend  and  help  you  as  I 
have  helped  the  people  of  Calabar?" 

Eagerly  they  assented.  It  would  be  a  fine 
258 


MARY  SLESSOB 

thing  to  have  a  " White  Mother"  in  their  coun- 
try. 

"Will  you  grant  that  the  house  I  build  shall 
be  a  place  of  refuge  for  those  in  distress — for 
those  charged  with  witchcraft  or  threatened 
with  death  for  any  other  cause?  Will  you 
promise  that  they  shall  be  safe  with  me  until 
we  can  consider  together  their  case?" 

The  people  looked  at  the  strange  white  wo- 
man wonderingly.  Why  should  she  ask  this 
thing?  What  difference  could  it  make  to  her? 

"All  life  is  precious,"  she  said  simply,  as  if 
she  had  read  their  thoughts.  "I  am  here  to 
help  you — to  care  for  those  who  are  sick  or 
hurt,  and  I  must  be  allowed  to  see  that  each 
one  who  is  in  any  sort  of  trouble  is  treated 
fairly.  Will  you  promise  that  my  house  shall 
be  a  place  of  refuge  ? ' ' 

Again  they  gravely  assented.  So,  greatly 
encouraged,  she  returned  to  Calabar  to  pack 
her  goods  and  prepare  to  leave  the  old  field  for 
the  new. 

All  her  friends  gathered  about  her,  loudly 
lamenting.  She  was  surely  going  to  her  death, 
they  said.  Her  fellow  workers  regarded  her 

259 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

with  wonder  and  pity.  "Nothing  can  make 
any  impression  on  the  Okoyong  save  a  consul 
and  a  British  gunboat,"  they  declared.  But 
Mary  Slessor  was  undaunted.  She  stowed  her 
boxes  and  her  little  family  of  five  small  waifs 
away  in  the  canoe  as  happily  as  if  she  were 
starting  out  on  a  pleasure  trip.  To  a  friend  in 
Scotland,  she  wrote: 

I  am  going  ^to  a  new  tribe  up-country,  a  fierce,  cruel  peo- 
ple, and  every  one  tells  me  that  they  will  kill  me.  But  I 
don't  fear  any  hurt — only  to  combat  their  savage  customs 
will  require  courage  and  firmness  on  my  part. 

The  life  in  Okoyong  did  indeed  require 
fortitude  and  faith.  Remote  from  friends  and 
helpers,  in  the  midst  of  that  most  dreaded  of  all 
the  African  tribes,  she  patiently  worked  to 
lighten  the  darkness  of  the  degraded  people  and 
make  their  lives  happier  and  better.  With  her 
rare  gift  of  intuition  she  at  once  felt  that  Ma 
Eame,  the  chief's  sister,  had  a  warm  heart  and 
a  strong  character. 

"She  will  be  my  chief  ally,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, and  time  proved  that  she  was  right.  A 
spark  in  the  black  woman's  soul  was  quickened 
by  the  White  Mother's  flaming  zeal.  Dimly 

260 


MARY  SLESSOE 

she  felt  the  power  of  the  new  law  of  love.  Of- 
ten at  the  risk  of  her  life,  should  she  be  dis- 
covered, she  kept  the  missionary  informed  in  re- 
gard to  the  movements  of  the  people.  Whether 
it  was  a  case  of  witchcraft  or  murder,  of 
vengeance  or  a  raid  on  a  neighboring  tribe, 
"Ma"  was  sure  to  find  it  out;  and  her  influence 
was  frequently  strong  enough  to  avert  a  tragedy. 

As  at  Calabar,  she  found  that  the  greatest  ob- 
stacle in  the  way  of  progress  was  the  general 
indulgence  in  rum,  which  the  white  people  gave 
the  natives  in  exchange  for  their  palm  oil, 
spices,  rubber,  and  other  products. 

"Do  not  drink  the  vile  stuff — do  not  take  it 
or  sell  it,"  she  begged.  "It  is  like  poison  to 
your  body.  It  burns  out  your  life  and  heart 
and  brings  every  trouble  upon  you." 

"What  for  white  man  bring  them  rum  sup- 
pose them  rum  no  be  good?"  they  demanded. 
"He  be  god-man  bring  the  rum — then  what  for 
god-man  talk  so?" 

What  was  there  to  say?  With  a  heavy  heart 
the  White  Mother  struggled  on  to  help  her  peo- 
ple in  spite  of  this  great  evil  which  men  of  the 
Christian  world  had  brought  upon  these  weak, 

261 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

ignorant  black  children.  And  she  did  make 
headway  in  spite  of  every  discouragement.  ' '  I 
had  a  lump  in  my  throat  often,  and  my  courage 
repeatedly  threatened  to  take  wings  and  fly 
away — though  nobody  guessed  it,"  she  said. 

For  years  this  brave  woman  went  on  with  her 
work  among  the  wild  tribes  of  Nigeria.  As 
soon  as  she  began  to  get  the  encouragement  of 
results  in  one  place  she  pressed  on  to  an  un- 
worked  field.  Realizing  that  her  pioneer  work 
needed  to  be  reenforced  and  sustained  by  the 
strong  arm  of  the  law,  she  persuaded  the  Brit- 
ish Government  to  "take  up  the  white  man's 
burden"  and  (through  the  influence  of  consuls 
and  the  persuasive  presence  of  a  gunboat  or 
two)  assume  the  guardianship  of  her  weak 
children.  In  spite  of  failing  health  and  the 
discouragement  of  small  results,  she  went  from 
one  post  to  another,  leaving  mission  houses  and 
chapel-huts  as  outward  signs  of  the  new  life 
to  which  she  had  been  a  witness.  "I  am  ready 
to  go  anywhere,  provided  it  be  forward,"  was 
her  watchword,  as  well  as  Dr.  Livingstone's. 

There  are  many  striking  points  of  likeness 
between  the  careers  of  these  two  torch-bearers 

262 


MARY  SLESSOR 

to  the  Dark  Continent.  As  children  both  had 
worked  at  the  loom,  studying  hungrily  as  they 
toiled.  Both  did  pioneer  work,  winning  the 
confidence  and  love  of  the  wild  people  they 
taught  and  served.  No  missionary  to  Africa, 
save  Dr.  Livingstone  alone,  has  had  a  more 
powerful  influence  than  Mary  Slessor. 

When  at  last  in  January,  1915,  after  thirty- 
nine  years  of  service,  she  died  and  left  to  oth- 
ers the  task  of  bearing  on  the  torch  to  her  peo- 
ple, Sir  Frederick  Lugard,  the  Governor-Gen- 
eral of  Nigeria  said : 

"By  her  enthusiasm,  self-sacrifice,  and  great- 
ness of  character  she  has  earned  the  devotion 
of  thousands  of  natives  among  whom  she 
worked,  and  the  love  and  esteem  of  all  Euro- 
peans, irrespective  of  class  or  creed,  with  whom 
she  came  in  contact." 

She  was  buried  in  the  land  to  which  she  had 
given  her  long  life  of  service.  At  the  grave 
when  the  women,  after  the  native  fashion,  be- 
gan their  wild  wail  of  lament,  one  of  them  lifted 
up  her  voice  in  an  exalted  appeal  that  went 
straight  to  the  heart: 

"Do  not  cry,  do  not  cry!  Praise  God  from 
263 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

whom  all  blessings  flow.    Ma  was  a  great  bless- 
ing." 

Of  all  the  words  of  glowing  tribute  to  her 
faithful  work,  we  may  be  sure  that  none  would 
have  meant  more  to  the  lowly  missionary  than 
this  cry  from  the  awakened  soul  of  one  of  her 
people  of  the  bush. 


264 


THE  HEROINE  OF  RADIUM:  MARIE 
SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 


One  truth  discovered  is  immortal  and  entitles  its  author 
to  be  so;  for,  like  a  new  substance  in  nature,  it  cannot  be 
destroyed. 

HAZLITT. 


THE  HEROINE  OF  RADIUM 

YOU  would  hardly  think  that  a  big,  bare 
room,  with  rows  of  battered  benches  and 
shelves  and  tables  littered  with  all  sorts  of 
queer-looking  jars  and  bottles,  could  be  a  hiding- 
place  for  fairies.  Yet  Marie 's  father,  who  was 
one  of  the  wise  men  of  Warsaw,  said  they  were 
always  to  be  found  there. 

"Yes,  little  daughter,"  he  said,  "the  fairies 
you  may  chance  to  meet  with  in  the  woods, 
peeping  from  behind  trees  and  sleeping  in 
flowers,  are  a  tricksy,  uncertain  sort.  The  real 
fairies,  who  do  things,  are  to  be  found  in  my 
dusty  laboratory.  They  are  the  true  wonder- 
workers, and  there  you  may  really  catch  them 
at  work  and  learn  some  of  their  secrets.'* 

"But,  Father,  wouldn't  the  fairies  like  it 
better  if  it  was  n't  quite  so  dusty  there?"  asked 
the  child. 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  replied  the  professor. 
267  ' 


"We  need  one  fairy  more  to  put  us  to 
rights." 

At  a  time  when  most  little  girls  are  playing 
with  dolls,  Marie  was  playing  "fairy"  in  the 
big  classroom,  dusting  the  tables  and  shelves, 
and  washing  the  glass  tubes  and  other  things 
that  her  father  used  as  he  talked  to  his  stu- 
dents. "I  think  we  might  see  the  fairies  better 
if  I  make  all  these  glasses  clear  and  shiny," 
said  Marie. 

"Can  I  trust  your  little  fingers  not  to  let 
things  fall?"  asked  her  father.  "Eemember, 
my  funny  glasses  are  precious.  It  might  cost 
us  a  dinner  if  you  should  let  one  slip. ' ' 

The  professor  soon  found  that  his  little 
daughter  never  let  anything  slip — either  the 
things  he  used  or  the  things  he  said.  ' '  Such  a 
wise  little  fairy  and  such  a  busy  one!"  he 
would  say.  * '  I  don 't  know  how  we  could  do  our 
work  without  her." 

If  Professor  Ladislaus  Sklodowski  had  not 
loved  his  laboratory  teaching  above  all  else,  he 
would  have  known  that  he  was  overworked. 
As  it  was,  he  counted  himself  fortunate  in  be- 
ing able  to  serve  Truth  and  to  enlist  others  in 

268 


MAEIE  SKLODOWSKA  CUKIE 

her  service.  For  the  professor's  zeal  was  of 
the  kind  that  kindles  enthusiasm.  If  you  had 
seen  the  faces  of  those  Polish  students  as  they 
hung  on  his  words  and  watched  breathlessly  the 
result  of  an  experiment,  you  would  have  known 
that  they,  too,  believed  in  the  wonder-working 
fairies. 

It  seems  as  if  the  Polish  people  have  a  greater 
love  and  understanding  of  the  unseen  powers  of 
the  world  than  is  given  to  many  other  nations. 
If  you  read  the  story  of  Poland's  tragic  strug- 
gles against  foes  within  and  without  until, 
finally,  the  stronger  surrounding  countries — 
Germany,  Austria,  and  Eussia — divided  her 
territory  as  spoil  among  themselves  and  she 
ceased  to  exist  as  a  distinct  nation,  you  will  un- 
derstand why  her  children  have  sought  refuge 
in  the  things  of  the  spirit.  They  have  in  a 
wonderful  degree  the  courage  that  rises  above 
the  most  unfriendly  circumstances  and  says: 

One  day  with  life  and  heart 

Is  more  than  time  enough  to  find  a  world. 

Some  of  them,  like  Chopin  and  Paderewski, 
have  found  a  new  world  in  music;  others  have 

269 


HEROINES  OF  SEEVICE 

found  it  in  poetry  and  romance ;  and  still  others 
in  science.  The  child  who  dreamed  of  fairies 
in  her  father's  classroom  was  to  discover  the 
greatest  marvel  of  modern  science — a  discovery 
that  opened  up  a  new  world  to  the  masters  of 
physics  and  chemistry  of  our  day. 

Marie's  mother,  who  had  herself  been  a 
teacher,  died  when  the  child  was  very  small; 
and  so  it  happened  that  the  busy  father  had  to 
take  sole  care  of  her  and  make  the  laboratory 
do  duty  as  nursery  and  playroom.  It  was  not 
strange  that  the  bright,  thoughtful  little  girl 
learned  to  love  the  things  that  were  so  dear  to 
her  father's  heart.  Would  he  not  rather  buy 
things  for  his  work  than  have  meat  for  dinner? 
Did  he  not  wear  the  same  shabby  kaftan  (the 
full  Russian  top-coat  that  looks  like  a  dressing- 
gown)  year  after  year  in  order  that  he  might 
have  material  for  important  experiments? 
Truth  was,  indeed,  more  than  meat  and  the 
love  of  learning  more  than  raiment  in  that 
home,  and  the  little  daughter  drank  in  his  en- 
thusiasm with  the  queer  laboratory  smells 
which  were  her  native  air  and  the  breath  of 
life  to  her. 

270 


MARIE  SKLODOWSKA  CUEIE 

The  time  came  when  the  child  had  to  leave 
this  nursery  to  enter  school,  but  always,  when 
the  day's  session  was  over,  she  went  directly  to 
that  other  school  where  she  listened  fascinated 
to  all  her  father  taught  about  the  wonders  of 
the  inner  world  of  atoms  and  the  mysterious 
forces  that  make  the  visible  world  in  which  we 
live.  She  still  believed  in  fairies, — oh,  yes! — 
but  now  she  knew  their  names.  There  were 
the  rainbow  fairies — light-waves,  that  make  all 
the  colors  we  see, — and  many  more  our  eyes 
are  not  able  to  discover,  but  which  we  can  cap- 
ture by  interesting  experiments.  There  were 
sound-waves,  too,  and  the  marvelous  forces  we 
call  electricity,  magnetism,  and  gravitation. 
When  she  was  nine  years  old,  it  was  second  na- 
ture to  care  for  her  father's  batteries,  beakers, 
and  retorts,  and  to  help  prepare  the  apparatus 
that  was  to  be  used  in  the  demonstrations  of  the 
coming  day.  The  students  marveled  at  the 
child's  skill  and  knowledge,  and  called  her  with 
admiring  affection  "professorowna,"  (daugh- 
ter-professor). 

There  was  a  world  besides  the  wonderland 
of  the  laboratory,  of  which  Marie  was  soon 

271 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

aware.  This  was  the  world  of  fear,  where  the 
powers  of  Russia  ruled.  In  1861  the  Poles  had 
made  a  vain  attempt  to  win  their  independence, 
and  when  Marie  was  a  little  girl  (she  was  born 
in  1867),  the  authorities  tried  to  stamp  out  any 
further  sparks  of  possible  rebellion  by  adopt- 
ing unusually  harsh  measures.  It  was  a  crime 
to  speak  the  Polish  language  in  the  schools  and 
to  talk  of  the  old,  happy  days  when  Poland  was 
a  nation.  If  any  one  was  even  suspected  of 
looking  forward  to  a  better  time  when  the  peo- 
ple would  not  be  persecuted  by  the  police  or 
forced  to  bribe  unprincipled  officials  for  a 
chance  to  conduct  their  business  without  inter- 
ference, he  was  carried  off  to  the  cruel,  yellow- 
walled  prison  near  the  citadel,  and  perhaps  sent 
to  a  life  of  exile  in  Siberia.  Since  knowledge 
means  independent  thought  and  capacity  for 
leadership,  the  high  schools  and  universities 
were  particularly  under  suspicion.  Years  aft- 
erward, when  Marie  spoke  of  this  reign  of  ter- 
ror, her  eyes  flashed  and  her  lips  were  set  in  a 
thin  white  line.  Time  did  not  make  the  mem- 
ory less  vivid. 

"Every  corridor  of  my  father's  school  had 
272 


MARIE  SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 

finger-posts  pointing  to  Siberia!'*  she  declared 
dramatically. 

When  Marie  was  sixteen,  she  graduated 
from  the  "gymnasium"  for  girls,  receiving  a 
gold  medal  for  excellence  in  mathematics  and 
sciences.  In  Russia,  as  in  Germany,  the  gym- 
nasium corresponds  to  our  high  school,  but  also 
covers  some  of  the  work  of  the  first  two  years 
of  college.  The  name  gymnasium  signifies  a 
place  where  the  mind  is  exercised  and  made 
strong  in  preparation  for  the  work  of  the  uni- 
versities. 

The  position  as  governess  to  the  daughters 
of  a  Russian  nobleman  was  offered  to  the  bril- 
liant girl  with  the  sweet,  serious  eyes  and  gen- 
tle voice.  As  it  meant  independence  and  a 
chance  to  travel  and  learn  the  ways  of  the 
world,  Marie  agreed  to  undertake  the  work. 

Now,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  the  young 
Polish  girl  knew  work  that  was  not  a  labor  of 
love.  Her  pupils  cared  nothing  for  the  things 
that  meant  everything  to  her.  How  they  loved 
luxury  and  show  and  gay  chatter!  How  indif- 
ferent they  were  to  truth  that  would  make  the 
world  wiser  and  happier. 

273 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

"How  strangely  you  look,  Mademoiselle 
Marie,"  said  the  little  Countess  Olga  one  day, 
in  the  midst  of  her  French  lesson.  "  Your  eyes 
seem  to  see  things  far  away." 

Marie  was  truly  looking  past  her  pupils,  past 
the  rich  apartment,  beyond  Russia,  into  the 
great  world  of  opportunity  for  all  earnest 
workers.  She  had  overheard  something  about 


and  knew  that  some  of  her  father 's  pupils  had 
been  put  under  arrest. 

Suppose  they  should  try  to  make  me  testify 
against  my  friends,"  said  the  girl  to  herself. 
"I  must  leave  Russia  at  once.  My  savings 
will  surely  take  me  to  Paris,  and  there  I  may 
get  a  place  as  helper  in  one  of  the  big  labora- 
tories, where  I  can  learn  as  I  work." 

The  eyes  that  had  been  dark  with  fear  an  in- 
stant before  became  bright  with  hope.  Eagerly 
she  planned  a  disguise  and  a  way  to  slip  off  the 
very  next  night  while  the  household  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  excitement  of  a  masquerade  ball. 

Everything  went  well,  and  in  due  time  she 
found  her  trembling  self  and  her  slender  pos- 
sessions safely  stowed  away  on  a  train  that 

274 


MARIE  SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 

was  moving  rapidly  toward  the  frontier  and 
freedom.  No  one  gave  a  second  thought  to  the 
little  elderly  woman  with  gray  hair  and  specta- 
cles who  sat  staring  out  of  the  window  of  her 
compartment  at  the  fields  and  trees  rushing 
by  in  the  darkness  and  the  starry  heavens  that 
the  train  seemed  to  carry  with  it.  Her  plain, 
black  dress  and  veil  seemed  those  of  a  self- 
respecting,  upper-class  servant,  who  was  per- 
haps going  to  the  bedside  of  a  dying  son. 

"I  feel  almost  as  old  as  I  look,"  Marie  was 
saying  to  herself.  "But  how  can  a  girl  who  is 
all  alone  in  the  world,  with  no  one  to  know  what 
happens  to  her,  help  feeling  old?  Down  in  my 
heart,  though,  I  know  that  life  is  just  beginning. 
There  is  something  waiting  for  me  beyond  the 
blackness — something  that  needs  just  little 
me." 

It  was  a  wonderful  relief  when  the  solitary 
journey  was  over  and  the  elderly  disguise  laid 
aside.  "Shall  I  ever  feel  really  young  again!" 
said  the  girl,  who  was  not  quite  twenty-four. 
But  not  for  a  moment  did  she  doubt  that  there 
was  work  waiting  for  her  in  the  big,  unexplored 
world. 

275 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

During  those  early  days  in  Paris,  Marie  of- 
ten had  reason  to  be  grateful  for  the  plain  liv- 
ing of  her  childhood  that  had  made  her  inde- 
pendent of  creature  comforts.  Now  she  knew 
actual  want  in  her  cold  garret,  furnished  only 
with  a  cot  and  chair,  like  a  hermit's  cell.  She 
lived,  too,  on  hermit's  fare — black  bread  and 
milk.  But  even  when  it  was  so  cold  that 
the  milk  was  frozen, — cold  comfort,  indeed! — 
the  fire  of  her  enthusiasm  knew  no  chill.  Day 
after  day  she  walked  from  laboratory  to  labora- 
tory begging  to  be  given  a  chance  as  assistant, 
but  always  with  the  same  result.  It  was  man's 
work ;  why  did  she  not  look  for  a  place  in  a  mil- 
liner 's  shop? 

One  day  she  renewed  her  appeal  to  Professor 
Lippman  in  the  Sorbonne  research  laborato- 
ries. Something  in  the  still,  pale  face  and  deep- 
set,  earnest  eyes  caught  the  attention  of  the 
busy  man.  Perhaps  this  strange,  determined 
girl  was  starving!  And  besides,  the  crucibles 
and  test-tubes  were  truly  in  sad  need  of  atten- 
tion. Grudgingly  he  bade  her  clean  the  vari- 
ous accessories  and  care  for  the  furnace.  Her 
deftness  and  skill  in  handling  the  materials, 

276 


MARIE  SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 

and  a  practical  suggestion  that  proved  of  value 
in  an  important  experiment,  attracted  the  fa- 
vorable notice  of  the  professor.  He  realized 
that  the  slight  girl  with  the  foreign  look  and 
accent,  whom  he  had  taken  in  out  of  an  impulse 
of  pity,  was  likely  to  become  one  of  his  most 
valuable  helpers. 

A  new  day  dawned  for  the  ambitious  young 
woman.  While  supporting  herself  by  her  lab- 
oratory work,  she  completed  in  two  years  the 
university  course  for  a  degree  in  mathematics, 
and,  two  years  later,  she  won  a  second  degree 
in  physics  and  chemistry.  In  the  meantime  her 
enthusiasm  for  science  and  her  undaunted 
courage  in  the  face  of  difficulties  and  discour- 
agements attracted  the  admiration  of  a  fellow- 
worker,  Pierre  Curie,  one  of  the  most  promis- 
ing of  the  younger  professors. 

"I  love  you,  and  we  both  love  the  same 
things,"  he  said  one  day.  "Would  it  not 
be  happier  to  live  and  work  together  than 
alone?" 

And  so  began  that  wonderful  partnership  of 
two  great  scientists,  whose  hard  work  and  he- 
roic struggle,  crowned  at  last  by  brilliant  suc- 

277 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

cess,  has  been  an  inspiration  to  earnest  work- 
ers the  world  over. 

Madame  Curie  set  up  a  little  laboratory  in 
their  apartment,  and  toiled  over  her  experi- 
ments at  all  hours.  Her  baby  daughter  was 
often  bathed  and  dressed  in  this  workroom 
among  the  test-tubes  and  the  interesting  fumes 
of  advanced  research. 

11  Irene  is  as  happy  in  the  atmosphere  of  sci- 
ence as  her  mother  was,"  said  Madame  Curie 
to  one  of  her  husband 's  brother-professors  who 
seemed  surprised  to  find  a  crowing  infant  in  a 
laboratory.  "And  if  I  could  afford  the  best 
possible  nurse,  she  could  not  take  my  place! 
For  my  baby  and  I  know  the  joy  of  living  and 
growing  together  with  those  we  love." 

What  was  the  problem  that  the  mother  was 
working  over  even  while  she  sewed  for  her  lit- 
tle girl,  or  rocked  her  to  sleep  to  the  gentle 
crooning  of  an  old  Polish  folk-song  whose  mel- 
ody Chopin  has  wrought  into  one  of  his  tender- 
est  nocturnes? 

The  child  who  used  to  delight  in  experiments 
with  light-waves  in  her  father's  laboratory,  was 
interested  in  the  strange  glow  which  Prof. 

278 


Marie  Sklodowska  Curie 


MARIE  SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 

Becquerel  had  found  that  the  substance  known 
as  uranium  gave  off  spontaneously.  Like  the 
X-rays,  this  light  passes  through  wood  and 
other  bodies  opaque  to  sunlight.  Madame 
Curie  became  deeply  interested  in  the  problem 
of  the  nature  of  the  Becquerel  rays  and  their 
wonderful  properties,  such  as  that  of  making 
the  air  a  conductor  for  electricity.  One  day 
she  discovered  that  pitchblende,  the  black  min- 
eral from  which  uranium  is  extracted,  was 
more  radioactive  (that  is,  it  gave  off  more  pow- 
erful rays)  than  the  isolated  substance  itself, 
and  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was 
some  other  element  in  the  ore  which,  could  it 
be  extracted,  would  prove  more  valuable  than 
uranium. 

With  infinite  patience  and  the  skill  of  highly 
trained  specialists  in  both  physics  and  chem- 
istry, Madame  Curie  and  her  husband  worked 
to  obtain  this  unknown  substance.  At  times 
Pierre  Curie  all  but  lost  heart  at  the  seemingly 
insurmountable  obstacles  in  the  way.  "It  can- 
not be  done!"  he  exclaimed  one  day,  with  a 
groan.  '  *  Truly, '  Nature  has  buried  Truth  deep 
in  the  bottom  of  the  sea.'  " 

281 


"But  man  can  dive,  cher  ami,"  said  his  wife, 
with  a  heartening  smile.  "Think  of  the  joy 
when  one  comes  up  at  last  with  the  pearl — the 
pearl  of  truth!" 

At  last  their  toil  was  rewarded,  and  two  new 
elements  were  separated  from  pitchblende — po- 
lonium, so  named  by  Madame  Curie  in  honor  of 
her  native  Poland,  and  radium,  the  most  marvel- 
ous of  all  radioactive  substances.  A  tiny  pinch 

^  T 

of  radium,  which  is  a  grayish  white  powder  not 
unlike  coarse  salt  in  appearance,  gives  out  a 
strange  glow  something  like  that  of  fireflies,  but 
bright  enough  to  read  by.  Moreover,  light  and 
heat  are  radiated  by  this  magic  element  with  no 
apparent  waste  of  its  own  amount  or  energy. 
Eadium  can  also  make  some  other  substances, 
diamonds  for  instance,  shine  with  a  light  like  its 
own,  and  it  makes  the  air  a  conductor  of  elec- 
tricity. Its  weird  glow  passes  through  bone  al- 
most as  readily  as  through  tissue-paper  or 
through  flesh,  and  it  even  penetrates  an  inch- 
thick  iron  plate. 

The  Curies  now  woke  to  find  not  only  Paris 
but  the  world  ringing  with  the  fame  of  their  dis- 
covery. The  modest  workers  wanted  nothing, 

282 


MARIE  SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 

however,  but  the  chance  to  go  on  with  their  re- 
search. You  know  how  Tennyson  makes  the 
aged  Ulysses  look  forward  even  at  the  end  of  his 
life  to  one  more  last  voyage.  The  type  of  the 
unconquerable  human  soul  that  ever  presses  on 
to  fresh  achievement,  he  says : 

All  experience  is  an  arch  where-thro* 

Gleams  that  untravel'd  world,  whose  margin  fades 

Forever  and  forever  when  I  move. 

So  it  was  with  Pierre  Curie  and  his  wife.  Their 
famous  accomplishment  opened  a  new  world  of 
interesting  possibilities,  a  world  which  they 
longed  above  all  things  to  explore. 

Their  one  trouble  was  the  difficulty  of  pro- 
curing enough  of  the  precious  element  they  had 
discovered  to  go  on  with  their  experiments. 
Because  radium  is  not  .only  rare,  but  also  ex- 
ceedingly hard  to  extract  from  the  ore,  it  is  a 
hundred  times  more  precious  than  pure  gold. 
It  is  said  that  five  tons  of  pitchblende  were 
treated  before  a  trifling  pinch  of  the  magic  pow- 
der was  secured.  It  would  take  over  two  thou- 
sand tons  of  the  mineral  to  produce  a  pound  of 
radium.  Moreover,  it  was  not  easy  to  secure 

283 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

the  ore,  as  practically  all  the  known  mines  were 
in  Austria,  and  those  in  control  wanted  to  profit 
as  much  as  possible  by  this  chance. 

' '  It  does  seem  as  if  people  might  not  stand  in 
the  way  of  our  obtaining  the  necessary  ma- 
terial to  go  on  with  our  work, ' '  lamented  Pierre 
Curie.  ' '  What  we  discover  belongs  to  the  world 
— to  any  one  who  can  use  it." 

"We  have  passed  other  lions  in  the  way. 
This,  too,  we  shall  pass,"  said  Madame  Curie, 
quietly. 

They  lived  in  a  tiny  house  in  an  obscure  sub- 
urb of  Paris,  giving  all  that  they  possessed— 
the  modest  income  gained  from  teaching  and 
lecturing,  their  share  of  the  Nobel  prize  of 
$40,000,  which,  in  1903,  was  divided  between 
them  and  Professor  Becquerel,  together  with  all 
their  time  and  all  their  skill  and  knowledge,  to 
their  work. 

For  recreation  they  went  for  walks  in  the 
country  with  little  Irene,  often  stopping  for  din- 
ner at  quaint  inns  among  the  trees.  On  one 
such  evening,  when  Dr.  Curie  had  just  declined 
the  decoration  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  because 
it  had  "no  bearing  on  his  work,'*  his  small 

284 


MARIE  SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 

daughter  climbed  on  his  knee  and  slipped  a  red 
geranium  into  his  buttonhole,  saying,  with  com- 
ical solemnity:  "You  are  now  decorated  with 
the  Legion  of  Honor.  Pray,  Monsieur,  what  do 
you  intend  to  do  about  it?" 

"I  like  this  emblem  much  better  than  a  glit- 
tering star  on  a  bit  of  red  ribbon,  and  I  love  the 
hand  that  put  it  there,"  replied  the  father,  his 
face  lighting  up  with  one  of  his  rare  smiles. 
"In  this  case  I  make  no  objection." 

Other  honors,  which  meant  increased  oppor- 
tunity for  work,  were  quietly  accepted.  Pierre 
Curie  was  elected  to  the  French  Academy — the 
greatest  honor  his  country  can  bestow  on  her 
men  of  genius  and  achievement.  Madame  Curie 
received  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Physical  Sci- 
ence, and — a  distinction  shared  with  no  other 
woman — the  position  of  special  lecturer  at  the 
Sorbonne,  in  Paris. 

One  day  in  1906,  when  Dr.  Curie,  his  mind  in- 
tent on  an  absorbing  problem,  was  absent-mind- 
edly hurrying  across  a  wet  street,  he  slipped 
and  fell  under  a  passing  truck  and  was  in- 
stantly killed.  When  they  attempted  to  break 
the  news  to  Madame  Curie  by  telling  her  that 

285 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

her  husband  had  been  hurt  in  an  accident,  she 
looked  past  them  with  a  white,  set  face,  and  re- 
peated over  and  over  to  herself,  as  if  trying  to 
get  her  bearings  in  the  new  existence  that 
stretched  blackly  before  her,  " Pierre  is  dead; 
Pierre  is  dead." 

Now,  as  on  that  night  when  she  was  leaving 
Russia  for  an  unknown  world,  she  saw  a  gleam 
in  the  blackness — there  was  work  to  be  done! 
There  was  something  waiting  in  the  shadowy 
future  for  her,  something  that  she  alone  could 
do.  As  on  that  other  night,  she  found  her  lips 
shaping  the  words :  ' '  The  big  world  has  need 
of  little  me.  But  oh,  it  will  be  hard  now  to 
work  alone!"  Then  her  eyes  fell  on  her  two 
little  girls  (Irene  was  now  eight  years  old  and 
baby  Eve  was  three),  who  were  standing  quietly 
near  with  big,  wondering  eye's  fixed  on  their 
mother's  strange  face. 

"Forgive  me,  darlings!"  she  cried,  gathering 
her  children  into  her  arms.  * '  We  must  try  hard 
to  go  on  with  the  work  Father  loved.  Together 
is  a  magic  word  for  us  still,  little  daughters ! ' ' 

Everybody  wondered  at  the  courage  and  quiet 
power  with  which  Madame  Curie  went  out  to 

286 


meet  her  new  life.  She  succeeded  to  her  hus- 
band's professorship,  and  carried  on  his  special 
lines  of  investigation  as  well  as  her  own.  The 
value  of  her  work  to  science  and  to  humanity 
may  be  indicated  by  the  fact  that  in  1911  the 
Nobel  prize  was  again  awarded  to  her — the  only 
time  it  has  ever  been  given  more  than  once  to 
the  same  person. 

At  home,  she  tried  to  be  father  as  well  as 
mother.  She  took  the  children  for  walks  in  the 
evening,  and  while  she  sewed  on  their  dresses 
and  knitted  them  mittens  and  mufflers,  she  told 
them  stories  of  the  wonderland  of  science. 

"Why  do  you  take  time  to  write  down  every- 
thing you  do  f "  asked  Eve  one  day,  as  she  looked 
over  her  mother 's  shoulder  at  the  neat  note-book 
in  which  the  world-famous  scientist  was  sum- 
ming up  the  work  of  the  day. 

"Why  does  a  seaman  keep  a  log,  dearie?"  the 
mother  questioned  with  a  smile.  * '  A  laboratory 
is  just  like  a  ship,  and  I  want  things  shipshape. 
Every  day  with  me  is  like  a  voyage — a  voyage 
of  discovery." 

"But  why  do  you  put  question  marks  every- 
where, Mother?"  persisted  the  child. 

287 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

It  was  true  that  the  pages  fairly  bristled  with 
interrogation  points.  Madame  Curie  laughed 
as  if  she  had  never  noticed  this  before.  ''It  is 
good  to  have  an  inquiring  mind,  child, ' '  she  said. 
"I  am  like  my  children;  I  love  to  ask  questions. 
And  when  one  gets  an  answer, — when  you  really 
discover  something, — it  only  leads  to  more  ques- 
tions; and  so  we  go  on  from  one  thing  to  an- 
other." 

When  Madame  Curie  was  asked  on  one  oc- 
casion to  what  she  attributed  her  success,  she 
replied,  without  hesitation:  "To  my  excellent 
training :  first,  under  my  father,  who  taught  me 
to  wonder  and  to  test;  second,  under  my  hus- 
band, who  understood  and  encouraged  me ;  and 
third,  under  my  children,  who  question  me!"1 

It  is  the  day  of  one  of  Madame  Curie's  lec- 
tures. The  dignified  halls  of  the  university  are 
a-flutter  with  many  visitors  from  the  world  of 
wealth  and  fashion.  There,  too,  are  distin- 
guished scientists  from  abroad,  among  whom 
are  Lord  Kelvin,  Sir  Oliver  Lodge,  and  Sir  Wil- 
liam Ramsay.  The  President  of  France  and  his 
wife  enter  with  royal  guests,  Don  Carlos  and 
Queen  Amelie  of  Portugal,  and  the  Shah  of 

288 


c 

<§. 


.o 


MAEIE  SKLODOWSKA  CUEIE 

Persia.  The  plodding  students  and  the  sober 
men  of  learning,  ranged  about  the  hall,  blink  at 
the  brilliant  company  like  owls  suddenly  brought 
into  the  sunlight. 

At  a  given  moment  the  hum  of  conversation 
dies  away  and  the  assemblage  rises  to  its  feet 
as  a  little  black-robed  figure  steps  in  and 
stands  before  them  on  the  platform.  There  is 
ar  instant's  stillness, — a  hush  of  indrawn  breath 
you  can  almost  hear, — and  then  the  audience 
gives  expression  to  its  enthusiasm  in  a  sudden 
roar  of  applause.  The  little  woman  lifts  up 
her  hand  pleadingly.  All  is  still  again  and 
she  begins  to  speak. 

She  is  slight,  almost  pathetically  frail,  this 
queen  f  science.  You  feel  as  if  all  her  life  had 
gone  into  her  work.  Her  face  is  pale,  and  her 
hair  is  only  a  shadow  above  her  serious  brow. 
But  the  deep-set  eyes  glow,  and  the  quiet  voice 
somehow  holds  the  attention  of  those  least  con- 
cerned with  the  problems  of  advanced  physics. 

Rank  and  wealth  mean  nothing  to  this  little 
black-robed  professor.  It  is  said  that  when  she 
was  requested  by  the  president  to  give  a  special 
demonstration  of  radium  and  its  marvels  before 

291 


the  Shah  of  Persia,  she  amazed  his  Serene 
Highness  by  showing  much  more  concern  for 
her  tiny  tube  of  white  powder  than  for  his  dis- 
tinguished favor.  When  the  royal  guest,  who 
had  never  felt  any  particular  need  of  exercising 
self-control,  saw  the  uncanny  light  that  was  able 
to  pass  through  plates  of  iron,  he  gave  a  star- 
tled exclamation  and  made  a  sudden  movement 
that  tipped  over  the  scientist's  material.  Now 
it  was  the  Laay  Professor 's  turn  to  be  alarmed. 
To  pacify  her,  the  Shah  held  out  a  costly  ring 
from  his  royal  finger,  but  this  extraordinary 
woman  with  the  pale  face  paid  not  the  slightest 
attention ;  she  could  not  be  bribed  to  forget  the 
peril  of  her  precious  radium.  It  is  to  be 
doubted  if  the  eastern  potentate  had  ever  before 
been  treated  with  such  scant  ceremony. 

In  1911,  Madame  Curie's  name  was  proposed 
for  election  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences.  While 
it  was  admitted  that  her  rivals  for  the  vacancy 
were  below  her  in  merit,  she  failed  of  being 
elected  by  two  votes.  There  was  a  general  pro- 
test, since  it  was  felt  that  service  of  the  first  or- 
der had  gone  unrecognized  merely  because  the 
candidate  happened  to  be  a  woman.  It  was 

292 


MAEIE  SKLODOWSKA  CURIE 

stated,  however,  that  Madame  Curie  was  not  re- 
jected for  this  reason,  but  because  it  was 
thought  wise  to  appoint  to  that  vacancy  Profes- 
sor Branly,  who  had  given  Marconi  valuable  aid 
in  his  invention  of  wireless  telegraphy,  and  who, 
since  he  was  then  an  old  man,  would  probably 
not  have  another  chance  for  the  honor.  As  Ma- 
dame Curie,  on  the  other  hand,  was  only  forty- 
three,  she  could  well  wait  for  another  vacancy. 
Since  the  outbreak  of  the  present  war  the 
world  has  heard  nothing  new  of  the  work  of  the 
Heroine  of  Kadium.  "We  do  not  doubt,  how- 
ever, that  like  all  the  women  of  France  and  all 
her  men  of  science,  she  is  giving  her  strength 
and  knowledge  to  the  utmost  in  the  service  of 
her  adopted  country.  But  we  know,  also,  that 
just  as  surely  she  is  seeing  the  pure-  light  of 
truth  shining  through  the  blackness,  and  that 
she  is  * '  following  the  gleam. ' '  When  the  clouds 
of  war  shall  have  cleared  away,  we  may  see  that 
her  labors  now,  as  in  the  past,  have  not  only 
been  of  service  to  her  country,  but  also  to  hu- 
manity. For  Truth  knows  no  boundaries  of  na- 
tion or  race,  and  he  who  serves  Truth  serves 
all  men. 

293 


THE  HEART  OF  HULL-HOUSE: 
JANE  ADDAMS 


The  Russian  peasants  have  a  proverb  that  says :  "Labor 
is  the  house  that  Love  lives  in";  by  which  they  mean  that 
no  two  people,  or  group  of  people,  can  come  into  affection- 
ate relation  with  each  othei*  unless  they  carry  on  a  mutual 
task. 

JANE  ADDAMS. 


D 


THE  HEAET  OF  HULL-HOUSE 

0  you  remember  what  the  poet  says  of 
Peter  Bell? 

At  noon,  when  by  the  forest's  edge 
He  lay  beneath  the  branches  high, 
The  soft  blue  sky  did  never  melt 
Into  his  heart :  he  never  felt 
The  witchery  of  the  soft  blue  sky ! 

In  the  same  way,  when  he  saw  the  "primrose  by 
the  river's  brim,"  it  was  not  to  him  a  lovely  bit 
of  the  miracle  of  upspringing  life  from  the  un- 
thinking clod;  it  was  just  a  common  little  yel- 
low flower,  which  one  might  idly  pick  and  cast 
aside,  but  to  which  one  never  gave  a  thought. 
He  saw  the  sky  and  woods  and  fields  and  human 
faces  with  the  outward  eye,  but  not  with  the  eye 
of  the  heart  or  the  spirit.  He  had  eyes  for  noth- 
ing but  the  shell  and  show  of  things. 

This  is  the  story  of  a  girl  who  early  learned 
to  see  with  the  "inward  eye";  she  "felt  the 

297 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

witchery  of  the  soft  blue  sky"  and  all  the  won- 
der of  the  changing  earth,  and  something  of  the 
life  about  her  melted  into  her  heart  and  became 
part  of  herself.  So  it  was  that  she  came  to  have 
a  " belonging  feeling"  for  all  that  she  saw — 
fields,  pine  woods,  mill-stream,  birds,  trees,  and 
people. 

Perhaps  little  Jane  Addams  loved  trees  and 
people  best  of  all.  Trees  were  so  big  and  true, 
with  roots ^ ever  seeking  a  firmer  hold  on  the 
good  brown  earth,  and  branches  growing  up  and 
ever  up,  year  by  year,  turning  sunbeams  into 
strength.  And  people  she  loved,  because  they 
had  in  them  something  of  all  kinds  of  life. 

There  was  one  special  tree  that  had  the 
friendliest  nooks  where  she  could  nestle  and 
dream  and  plan  plays  as  long  as  the  summer 
afternoon.  Perhaps  one  reason  that  Jane 
loved  this  tree  was  that  it  reminded  her  of  her 
tall,  splendid  father. 

"You  are  so  big  and  beautiful,  and  yet  you 
always  have  a  place  for  a  little  girl — even  one 
who  can  never  be  straight  and  strong,"  Jane 
whispered,  as  she  put  her  arms  about  her  tree 
friend.  And  when  she  crept  into  the  shelter 

298 


Jane  Addanis 


JANE  ADDAMS 

of  her  father 's  arms,  she  forgot  her  poor  back, 
that  made  her  carry  her  head  weakly  on  one 
side  when  she  longed  to  fling  it  back  and  look 
the  world  in  the  face  squarely,  exultingly,  as 
her  father's  daughter  should. 

"  There  is  no  one  so  fine  or  so  noble  as  my 
father,"  Jane  would  say  to  herself  as  she  saw 
him  standing  before  his  Bible-class  on  Sundays. 
Then  her  cheek  paled,  and  her  big  eyes  grew 
wistful.  It  would  be  too  bad  if  people  discov- 
ered that  this  frail  child  belonged  to  him.  They 
would  be  surprised  and  pity  him,  and  one  must 
never  pity  Father.  So  it  came  about  that, 
though  it  was  her  dearest  joy  to  walk  by  his 
side  clinging  to  his  hand,  she  stepped  over  to 
her  uncle,  saying  timidly,  "May  I  walk  with 
you,  Uncle  James?" 

This  happened  again  and  again,  to  the  mild 
astonishment  of  the  good  uncle.  At  last  a  day 
came  that  made  everything  different.  Jane, 
who  had  gone  to  town  unexpectedly,  chanced  to 
meet  her  father  coming  out  of  a  bank  on  the 
main  street.  Smiling  gaily  and  raising  his 
shining  silk  hat,  he  bowed  low,  as  if  he  were 
greeting  a  princess ;  and  as  the  shy  child  smiled 

301 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

back  she  knew  that  she  had  been  a  very  foolish 
little  girl  indeed.  Why  of  course !  Her  father 
made  everything  that  belonged  to  him  all  right 
just  because  it  did  belong.  He  had  strength 
and  power  enough  for  them  both.  As  she 
walked  by  his  side  after  that,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
big  grasp  of  the  hand  that  held  hers  enfolded 
all  the  little  tremblings  of  her  days. 

"What  are  these  funny  red  and  purple 
specks?"  Jstoe  asked  once  as  she  looked  with 
loving  admiration  at  the  hand  to  which  she 
clung. 

"Those  marks  show  that  I  've  dressed  mill- 
stones in  my  time,  just  as  this  flat  right  thumb 
tells  any  one  who  happens  to  notice  that  I  began 
life  as  a  miller,"  said  her  father. 

After  that  Jane  spent  much  time  at  the  mill 
industriously  rubbing  the  ground  wheat  be- 
tween thumb  and  forefinger ;  and  when  the  mill- 
stones were  being  dressed,  she  eagerly  held  out 
her  little  hands  in  the  hope  that  the  bits  of  fly- 
ing flint  would  mark  her  as  they  had  her  father. 
These  marks,  she  dimly  felt,  were  an  outward 
sign  of  her  father's  true  greatness.  He  was  a 
leading  citizen  of  their  Illinois  community  by 

302 


JANE  ADDAMS 

right  of  character  and  hard-won  success. 
Everybody  admired  and  honored  him.  Did  not 
President  Lincoln  even,  who  was,  her  father 
said,  "the  greatest  man  in  the  world,'*  write 
to  him  as  a  comrade  and  brother,  calling  him 
"My  dear  Double  D'ed  Addams"? 

Years  afterward,  when  Jane  Addams  spoke 
of  her  childhood,  she  said  that  all  her  early  ex- 
periences were  directly  connected  with  her 
father,  and  that  two  incidents  stood  out  with 
the  distinctness  of  vivid  pictures. 

She  stood,  one  Sunday  morning,  in  proud 
possession  of  a  beautiful  new  cloak,  waiting  for 
her  father 's  approval.  He  looked  at  her  a  mo- 
ment quietly,  and  then  patted  her  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

"Thy  cloak  is  very  pretty,  Jane,"  said  the 
Quaker  father,  gravely;  "so  much  prettier,  in- 
deed, than  that  of  the  other  little  girls  that  I 
think  thee  had  better  wear  thy  old  one."  Then 
he  added,  as  he  looked  into  her  puzzled,  disap- 
pointed eyes,  "We  can  never,  perhaps,  make 
such  things  as  clothes  quite  fair  and  right  in 
this  hill-and-valley  world,  but  it  is  wrong  and 
stupid  to  let  the  differences  crop  out  in  things 

303 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

that  mean  so  much  more ;  in  school  and  church, 
at  least,  people  should  be  able  to  feel  that  they 
belong  to  one  family." 

Another  day  she  had  gone  with  her  father  on 
an  errand  into  the  poorest  quarter  of  the  town. 
It  had  always  before  seemed  to  her  country 
eyes  that  the  city  was  a  dazzling  place  of  toy- 
and  candy-shops,  smooth  streets,  and  contented 
houses  with  sleek  lawns.  Now  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  quite  another  city,  with  ugly,  dingy 
houses  huddled  close  together  and  thin,  dirty 
children  standing  miserably  about  without 
place  or  spirit  to  play. 

"It  is  dreadful  the  way  all  the  comfortable, 
happy  people  stay  off  to  themselves,"  said 
Jane.  "When  I  grow  up,  I  shall,  of  course, 
have  a  big  house,  but  it  is  not  going  to  be  set 
apart  with  all  the  other  big  homes ;  it  is  going 
to  be  right  down  among  the  poor  horrid  little 
houses  like  these." 

Always  after  that,  when  Jane  roamed  over 
her  prairie  playground  or  sat  dreaming  under 
the  Norway  pines  which  had  grown  from  seeds 
that  her  father  had  scattered  in  his  early,  pio- 
neer days,  she  seemed  to  hear  something  of 

304 


JANE  ADDAMS 

"the  still,  sad  music  of  humanity"  in  the  voice 
of  the  wind  in  the  tree-tops  and  in  the  harmony 
of  her  life  of  varied  interests.  For  she  saw 
with  the  inward  eye  of  the  heart,  and  felt  the 
throb  of  all  life  in  each  vital  experience  that 
was  hers.  It  would  be  impossible  to  live  apart 
in  pleasant  places,  enjoying  beauty  which  oth- 
ers might  not  share.  She  must  live  in  the  midst 
of  the  crowded  ways,  and  bring  to  the  poor, 
stifled  little  houses  an  ideal  of  healthier  living. 
She  would  study  medicine  and  go  as  a  doctor 
to  the  forlorn,  dirty  children;  but  first  there 
would  be  many  things  to  learn. 

It  was  her  dream  to  go  to  Smith  College,  but 
her  father  believed  that  a  small  college  near 
her  home  better  fitted  one  for  the  life  to  which 
she  belonged. 

"My  daughter  is  also  a  daughter  of  Illinois," 
he  said,  "and  Rockford  College  is  her  proper 
place.  Afterward  she  may  go  east  and  to  Eu- 
rope in  order  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  what  the 
world  beyond  us  can  give,  and  so  get  a  fuller 
appreciation  of  what  life  at  home  is  and  may 
be." 

Jane  Addams  went,  therefore,  to  the  Illinois 
305 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

college,  "The  Mt.  Holyoke  of  the  West/'  a 
college  fanned  for  its  earnest,  missionary  spirit. 
The  serious  temper  of  her  class  was  reflected  in 
their  motto  which  was  the  Anglo-Saxon  word 
for  lady — hldfdige  (bread-kneader),  translated 
as  bread-giver;  and  the  poppy  was  selected  for 
the  class  flower,  "because  poppies  grow  among 
the  wheat,  as  if  Nature  knew  that  wherever 
there  was  hunger  that  needed  food  there  would 
be  pain  that  ^needed  relief." 

The  study  in  which  she  took  the  keenest  inter- 
est was  history, — "the  human  tale  of  this  wide 
world," — but  even  at  the  time  of  her  greatest 
enthusiasm  she  realized  that  while  knowledge 
comes  from  the  records  of  the  past,  wisdom 
comes  from  a  right  understanding  of  the  actual 
life  of  the  present. 

After  receiving  from  her  Alma  Mater  the  de- 
gree of  B.  A.,  she  entered  the  Woman's  Medi- 
cal College  in  Philadelphia  to  prepare  for  real 
work  in  a  real  world,  but  the  old  spinal  trouble 
soon  brought  that  chapter  to  a  close.  After 
some  months  in  Doctor  Weir  Mitchell's  hos- 
pital, and  a  longer  time  of  invalidism,  she 

306 


JANE  ADDAMS 

agreed  to  follow  her  doctor's  pleasant  prescrip- 
tion of  two  years  in  Europe. 

"When  I  returned  I  decided  to  give  up  my 
medical  course,"  said  Jane  Addams,  "partly 
because  I  had  no  real  aptitude  for  scientific 
work,  and  partly  because  I  discovered  that 
there  were  other  genuine  reasons  for  living 
among  the  poor  than  that  of  practicing  medi- 
cine upon  them. '  * 

While  in  London  Miss  Addams  saw  much  of 
the  life  of  the  great  city  from  the  top  of  an  om- 
nibus. Once  she  was  taken  with  a  number  of 
tourists  to  see  the  spectacle  of  the  Saturday 
night  auction  of  fruits  and  vegetables  to  the 
poor  of  the  East  Side,  and  the  lurid  picture 
blotted  out  all  the  picturesque  impressions,  full 
of  pleasant  human  interest  and  historic  asso- 
ciation, that  she  had  been  eagerly  enjoying  dur- 
ing this  first  visit  to  London  town.  Always 
afterwards,  when  she  closed  her  eyes,  she  could 
see  the  scene;  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  never 
leave  her.  In  the  flare  of  the  gas-light,  which 
made  weird  and  spectral  the  motley,  jostling 
crowd  and  touched  the  black  shadows  it  created 

307 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

into  a  grotesque  semblance  of  life,  she  saw 
wrinkled  women,  desperate-looking  men,  and 
pale  children  vying  with  each  other  to  secure 
with  their  farthings  and  ha'pennies  the  vege- 
tables held  up  by  a  hoarse,  red-faced  auctioneer. 

One  haggard  youth  sat  on  the  curb,  hungrily 
devouring  the  cabbage  that  he  had  succeeded  in 
bidding  in.  Her  sensation-loving  companions 
on  the  bus  stared  with  mingled  pity  and  dis- 
gust ;  but  the  girl  who  saw  what  she  looked  on 
with  the  inward  eye  of  the  heart  turned  away 
her  face.  The  poverty  that  she  had  before  seen 
had  not  prepared  her  for  wretchedness  like 
this. 

"For  the  following  weeks,"  she  said,  "I  went 
about  London  furtively,  afraid  to  look  down 
narrow  streets  and  alleys  lest  they  disclose  this 
hideous  human  need  and  suffering.  In  time, 
nothing  of  the  great  city  seemed  real  save  the 
misery  of  its  East  End." 

This  first  impression  of  London's  poverty 
was,  of  course,  not  only  lurid,  but  quite  unfair. 
She  knew  nothing  of  the  earnest  workers  who 
were  devoting  their  lives  to  the  problem  of  giv- 
ing the  right  kind  of  help  to  those  who,  through 

308 


Polk    Street    facade    of    Hull-House    buildings 


A    corner    of   the    Boys'    Library    at   Hull-House 


JANE  ADDAMS 

weakness,  ignorance,  or  misfortune,  were  not 
able  to  help  themselves. 

When,  five  years  later,  she  visited  Toynbee 
Hall,  she  saw  effective  work  of  the  kind  she  had 
dimly  dreamed  of  ever  since,  as  a  little  girl,  she 
had  wanted  to  build  a  beautiful  big  house  among 
the  ugly  little  ones  in  the  city.  Here  in  the 
heart  of  the  Whitechapel  district,  the  most  evil 
and  unhappy  section  of  London 's  East  End,  a 
group  of  optimistic,  large-hearted  young  men, 
who  believed  that  advantages  mean  responsi- 
bilities, had  come  to  live  and  work.  While  try- 
ing to  share  what  good  birth,  breeding,  and 
education  had  given  them  with  those  who  had 
been  shut  away  from  every  chance  for  whole- 
some living,  they  believed  that  they  in  turn 
might  learn  from  their  humble  neighbors  much 
that  universities  and  books  cannot  teach. 

"I  have  spent  too  much  time  in  vague  prep- 
aration for  I  knew  not  what,"  said  Jane  Ad- 
dams.  "At  last  I  see  a  way  to  begin  to  live 
in  a  really  real  world,  and  to  learn  to  do  by 
doing." 

And  so  Hull-House  was  born.  In  the  heart 
of  the  industrial  section  of  Chicago,  where 

311 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

workers  of  thirty-six  different  nations  live 
closely  herded  together,  Miss  Addams  found 
surviving  a  solidly  built  house  with  large  halls, 
open  fireplaces,  and  friendly  piazzas.  This  she 
secured,  repaired,  and  adapted  to  the  needs  of 
her  work,  naming  it  Hull-House  from  its  orig- 
inal owner,  one  of  Chicago's  early  citizens. 

"But  we  must  not  forget  that  the  house  is 
only  the  outward  sign,"  said  Miss  Addams. 
"The  real  thing  is  the  work.  'Labor  is  the 
house  that  love  lives  in,'  and  as  we  work  to- 
gether we  shall  come  to  understand  each  other 
and  learn  from  each  other." 

"What  are  you  going  to  put  in  your  house 
for  your  interesting  experiment?"  Miss  Ad- 
dams was  asked. 

"Just  what  I  should  want  in  my  home  any- 
where— even  in  your  perfectly  correct  neigh- 
borhood, ' '  she  replied  with  a  smile. 

You  can  imagine  the  beautiful,  restful  place 
it  was,  with  everything  in  keeping  with  the  fine 
old  house.  On  every  side  were  pictures  and 
other  interesting  things  that  she  had  gathered 
in  her  travels. 

Of  course,  Miss  Addams  was  not  alone  in  her 
312 


JANE  ADDAMS 

work.  Her  friend,  Ellen  Gates  Starr,  was  with 
her  from  the  beginning.  Miss  Julia  Lathrop, 
who  is  now  the  head  of  the  Children's  Bureau 
in  Washington,  was  another  fellow-worker. 
Soon  many  volunteers  came  eagerly  forward, 
some  to  teach  the  kindergarten,  others  to  take 
charge  of  classes  and  clubs  of  various  kinds. 
They  began  by  teaching  different  kinds  of 
hand-work,  which  then  had  no  place  in  the  pub- 
lic schools. 

"One  little  chap,  who  was  brought  into  the 
Juvenile  Court  the  other  day  for  breaking  a 
window,  confessed  to  the  judge  that  he  had 
thrown  the  stone  'a-purpose  to  get  pinched,' 
so  they  would  send  him  to  a  school  where  'they 
learn  a  fellow  to  make  things,'  "  Miss  Addams 
was  told. 

Classes  in  woodwork,  basketry,  sewing,  weav- 
ing, and  other  handicrafts  were  eagerly  patron- 
ized. There  were  also  evening  clubs  where 
boys  and  girls  who  had  early  left  school  to 
work  in  factories  could  learn  to  make  things  of 
practical  value  or  listen  to  reading  and  the 
spirited  telling  of  the  great  world-stories. 

One  day  Miss  Addams  met  a  small  newsboy 
313 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

as  he  hastily  left  the  house,  vainly  trying  to 
keep  back  signs  of  grief.  "  There  is  no  use  of 
coming  here  any  more,"  he  said  gruffly; 
"Prince  Roland  is  dead!" 

The  evening  classes  were  also  social  clubs, 
where  the  children  who  seemed  to  be  growing 
dull  and  unfeeling  like  the  turning  wheels 
among  which  they  spent  their  days  could  relax 
their  souls  and  bodies  in  free,  happy  compan- 
ionship and  get  a  taste  of  natural  living. 

"Young  people  need  pleasure  as  truly  as  they 
need  food  and  air,"  said  Miss  Addams. 
"When  I  see  the  throngs  of  factory-girls  on 
our  streets  in  the  evening,  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  pitiless  city  sees  in  them  just  two  possi- 
bilities: first,  the  chance  to  use  their  tender 
labor-power  by  day,  and  then  the  chance  to  take 
from  them  their  little  earnings  at  night  by  ap- 
pealing to  their  need  of  pleasure." 

One  of  the  new  buildings  that  was  early 
added  to  the  original  Hull-House  was  a  gymna- 
sium, which  provided  opportunities  for  swim- 
ming, basket-ball,  and  dancing. 

"We  have  swell  times  in  our  Hull-House 
club,"  boasted  black-eyed  Angelina.  "Our 

314 


JANE  ADDAMS 

floor  in  the  gym  puts  it  all  over  the  old  dance- 
halls  for  a  jolly  good  hop, — no  saloon  next  door 
with  all  that  crowd,  good  classy  music,  and  the 
right  sort  of  girls  and  fellows.  Then  some- 
times our  club  has  a  real  party  in  the  coffee- 
house. That  's  what  I  call  a  fine,  cozy  time; 
makes  a  girl  glad  she  's  living." 

Hull-House  also  puts  within  the  reach  of 
many  the  things  which  their  active  minds  crave, 
and  opens  the  way  to  a  new  life  and  success  in 
the  world. 

" Don't  you  remember  me?"  a  rising  young 
newspaper  man  once  said  to  Miss  Addams.  "I 
used  to  belong  to  a  Hull-House  club." 

"Tell  me  what  Hull-House  did  for  you  that 
really  helped,"  she  took  occasion  to  ask. 

"It  was  the  first  house  I  had  ever  been  in," 
he  replied  promptly,  "where  books  and  maga- 
zines just  lay  around  as  if  there  were  plenty  of 
them  in  the  world.  Don't  you  remember  how 
much  I  used  to  read  at  that  little  round  table  at 
the  back  of  the  library?" 

Some  good  people  who  visit  the  Settlement 
in  a  patronizing  mood  are  surprised  to  discover 
that  many  of  "these  working-girls"  have  a 

315 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

taste  for  what  is  fine.  Miss  Addams  likes  to 
tell  them  about  the  intelligent  group  who  fol- 
lowed the  reading  of  George  Eliot's  "Romola" 
with  unflagging  interest. 

"The  club  was  held  in  our  dining-room,"  she 
said  to  one  incredulous  visitor,  "and  two  of  the 
girls  came  early  regularly  to  help  wash  the 
dishes  and  arrange  the  photographs  of  Flor- 
ence on  the  table.  Do  you  know,"  she  added, 
looking  her  prosperous  guest  quietly  in  the 
eyes,  "that  the  young  woman  of  whom  you 
were  inquiring  about  'these  people*  is  one  of 
our  neighborhood  girls?  Those  who  live  in 
these  dingy  streets  because  they  are  poor  and 
must  live  near  their  work  are  not  a  different  or- 
der of  beings.  Don't  forget  what  Lincoln  said, 
'God  must  love  the  common  people — He  made 
so  many  of  them.'  You  have  only  to  live  at 
Hull-House  a  while  to  learn  how  true  it  is  that 
God  loves  them." 

"Nothing  has  ever  meant  more  real  inspira- 
tion to  me,"  said  a  student  of  sociology  from 
the  university,  who  had  spent  a  year  in  the  Set- 
tlement, ' '  than  the  way  the  poor  help  each  other. 
A  woman  who  supports  three  children  by  scrub- 

316 


JANE  ADDAMS 

bing  will  share  her  breakfast  with  the  people  in 
the  next  tenement  because  she  has  heard  that 
they  are  'hard  up';  a  man  who  has  been  out  of 
work  has  a  month's  rent  paid  by  a  young  chap 
in  the  stock-yards  who  boarded  with  him  last 
year;  a  Swedish  girl  works  in  the  laundry  for 
her  German  neighbor  to  let  her  stay  home  with 
her  sick  baby — and  so  it  goes." 

' '  Our  people  have,  too,  many  other  hardships 
besides  the  frequent  lack  of  food  and  fuel," 
said  Miss  Addams.  ' '  There  are  other  hungers. 
Do  you  know  what  it  means  for  the  Italian 
peasant,  used  to  an  outdoor  life  in  a  sunny, 
easy-going  land,  to  adapt  himself  to  the  ways 
of  America  ?  It  is  a  very  dark,  shut-in  Chicago 
that  many  of  them  know.  At  one  of  the  recep- 
tions here  an  Italian  woman  who  was  delighted 
with  our  red  roses  was  also  surprised  that  they 
could  be  'brought  so  fresh  all  the  way  from 
Italy.'  She  would  not  believe  that  roses  grew 
in  Chicago,  because  she  had  lived  here  six  years 
and  had  never  seen  any.  One  always  saw  roses 
in  Italy.  Think  of  it!  She  had  lived  for  six 
years  within  ten  blocks  of  florists'  shops,  but 
had  never  seen  one !" 

317 


HEKOINES  OF  SERVICE 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Starr,  "they  lose  the 
beauties  and  joys  of  their  old  homes  before  they 
learn  what  the  new  can  give.  When  we  had  our 
first  art  exhibit,  an  Italian  said  that  he  didn't 
know  that  Americans  cared  for  anything  but 
dollars — that  looking  at  pictures  was  some- 
thing people  did  only  in  Italy." 

A  Greek  was  overjoyed  at  seeing  a  photo- 
graph of  the  Acropolis  at  Hull-House.  He  said 
that  before  he  came  to  America  he  had  pre- 
pared a  book  of  pictures  in  color  of  Athens,  be- 
cause he  thought  that  people  in  the  new  coun- 
try would  like  to  see  them.  At  his  stand  near 
a  big  railroad-station  he  had  tried  to  talk  to 
some  of  those  who  stopped  to  buy  about  "the 
glory  that  was  Greece,"  but  he  had  concluded 
that  Americans  cared  for  nothing  but  fruit  and 
the  correct  change! 

At  Hull-House  the  Greeks,  Italians,  Poles, 
and  Germans  not  only  find  pictures  which 
quicken  early  memories  and  affections,  but  they 
can  give  plays  of  their  own  country  and  peo- 
ple. The  "  Ajax  "  and  '  *  Electra ' '  of  Sophocles 
have  been  presented  by  Greeks,  who  felt  that 
they  were  showing  ignorant  Americans  the 

318 


• 


JANE  ADDAMS 

majesty  of  the  classic  drama.  Thanksgiving, 
Christmas,  and  other  holidays  are  celebrated 
by  plays  and  pageants.  Nor  are  the  great  days 
of  other  lands  forgotten.  Garibaldi  and  Maz- 
zini,  who  fought  for  liberty  in  Italy,  are  hon- 
ored with  Washington  and  Lincoln. 

Old  and  young  alike  take  part  in  the  dra- 
matic events.  A  blind  patriarch,  who  appeared 
in  Longfellow 's  " Golden  Legend,"  which  was 
presented  one  Christmas,  spoke  to  Miss  Ad- 
dams  of  his  great  joy  in  the  work. 

1  'Kind -Heart,"  he  said  (that  was  his  name 
for  her), — "Kind  Heart,  it  seems  to  me  that  I 
have  been  waiting  all  my  life  to  hear  some  of 
these  things  said.  I  am  glad  we  had  so  many 
performances,  for  I  think  I  can  remember  them 
to  the  end.  It  is  getting  very  hard  for  me  to 
listen  to  reading,  but  the  different  voices  and  all 
made  this  very  plain." 

The  music  classes  and  choruses  give  much 
joy  to  the  people,  and  here  it  seems  possible  to 
bring  together  in  a  common  feeling  those  widely 
separated  by  tradition  and  custom.  Music  is 
the  universal  language  of  the  heart.  Bohemian 
and  Polish  women  sing  their  tender  and  stir- 

319 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

ring  folk-songs.  The  voices  of  men  and  women 
of  many  lands  mingle  in  Schubert's  lovely 
melodies  and  in  the  mighty  choruses  of  Handel. 

As  Miss  Addams  went  about  among  her 
neighbors  she  longed  to  lead  them  to  a  percep- 
tion of  the  relation  between  the  present  and 
the  past.  If  only  the  young,  who  were  impa- 
tiently breaking  away  from  all  the  old  country 
traditions,  could  be  made  to  appreciate  what 
their  parents  held  dear;  if  the  fathers  and 
mothers  could  at  the  same  time  understand  the 
complex  new  order  in  which  their  children  were 
struggling  to  hold  their  own.  When,  one  day, 
she  saw  an  old  Italian  woman  spinning  with 
distaff  and  spindle,  an  idea  came  to  her.  A 
Labor  Museum,  that  would  show  the  growth  of 
industries  in  every  country,  from  the  simplest 
processes  to  the  elaborate  machinery  of  modern 
times,  might  serve  the  purpose. 

The  working-out  of  her  plan  far  exceeded 
her  wildest  dream.  Russians,  Germans,  and 
Italians  happily  foregathered  to  demonstrate 
and  compare  methods  of  textile  work  with 
which  they  were  familiar.  Other  activities 
proved  equally  interesting.  The  lectures  given 

320 


JANE  ADDAMS 

among  the  various  exhibits  met  with  a  warm 
welcome.  Factory  workers,  who  had  pre- 
viously fought  shy  of  everything  "improving," 
came  because  they  said  these  lectures  were 
"getting  next  to  the  stuff  you  work  with  all  the 
time." 

Hull-House  has  worked  not  only  with  the 
people  but  for  them,  by  trying  to  secure  laws 
that  will  improve  the  conditions  under  which 
they  labor  and  live.  The  following  incident 
will  speak  for  the  fight  that  Miss  Addams  has 
made  against  such  evils  as  child  labor  and 
sweat-shop  work. 

The  representatives  of  a  group  of  manufac- 
turers waited  upon  her  and  promised  that  if 
she  would  "drop  all  this  nonsense  about  a 
sweat-shop  bill  of  which  she  knew  nothing," 
certain  business  men  would  give  fifty  thousand 
dollars  for  her  Settlement.  The  steady  look 
which  the  lady  of  Hull-House  gave  the  spokes- 
man made  him  wish  that  some  one  else  had 
come  with  the  offer  of  the  bribe. 

"We  have  no  ambition,"  said  Miss  Addams, 
"to  make  Hull-House  the  largest  institution  in 
Chicago;  but  we  are  trying  to  protect  our 

321 


HEROINES  OF  SERVICE 

neighbors  from  evil  conditions;  and  if  to  do 
that,  the  destruction  of  our  Settlement  should 
be  necessary,  we  would  gladly  sing  a  Te  Deum 
on  its  ruins. " 

The  girl  who  saw  what  she  looked  on  with 
"the  eye  of  the  heart,"  had  become  a  leader  in 
the  life  and  the  reforms  of  her  time.  ' '  On  the 
-whole,"  one  writer  has  said  of  her,  "the  reach 
of  this  woman's  sympathy  and  understanding 
is  beyond  all  comparison  wider  in  its  span — 
comprehending  all  kinds  of  people — than  that 
of  any  other  living  person. ' ' 

Jane  Addams  has  won  her  great  influence 
with  people  by  the  simple  means  of  working 
with  them.  Her  life  and  the  true  Hull-House 
— the  work  itself,  not  the  buildings  which  shel- 
ter it — give  meaning  to  the  saying  that  ' '  Labor 
is  the  house  that  love  lives  in." 


THE    END 


322 


s 


REC-0  LD-U 
O.JAN2 

DEC  2  " 


EB101998 


1998 


00007664 


i 

si   BRAi. 

TF       EPARTMENT 


Univerr,          ifornia  at  Los  Angel< 

- JL  LIBRARY. 


